500 words isn't very long

Let me set the scene for you: she (the child in this story) won’t stop screaming; sitting there, mouth open and the most high-pitched wail you’ve ever heard. And, do you know the reason behind this ear-piercing scream? She can’t find her dolly.

The problem is, neither can anyone else…

We join the action as there are twenty minutes left until the parents come back.

The cast:
Baby – Michelle Garson
Chris – James Commart
Harriet Lomand – Christine Farlow
Mrs. Harmmond – Sheila Carrow
Mr. Harmmond – Daniel Spencer

Chris buggered off like ages ago, soon as he got wind of my fuck-up. I mean, durr. He was over here quick enough when he thought he might get a grope, didn’t he. Like what’s that all about? Boys are weird.

That doesn’t help me find this fucking doll. Her parents are due back like in twenty minutes and they’ll go mental like if they hear her screaming like this. I bet the neighbours have already called them, you know, like the parents. Shit. That’s why they called, why they are rushing back here. Perhaps they think I’m some kinda torturer-type. Harriet Lomand: Child Torturer. That’s the headline in the local paper. Like I wanted to be famous you know, but not famous for being like a fuck-up.

Now there’s like ten minutes left. Is that the phone I can hear ringing? It might be, but with that kid squawking like that I can’t hear myself think like, let alone think about answering it if it is ringing. I wanna cry. I don’t want the dolly no more; I want my own Mummy. This ain’t worth the poxy coupla quid they’ll pay me. Or rather won’t pay me now.

Fuckertifuckertifuck.

We hear the sound of the doorbell in the distance. The baby still screams for her dolly.

That’s bound to be someone from next-door come to see what this brat is shouting about. I’ll peer through the curtains, see who it is and decide whether to answer it.

Oh, it’s Chris, come back.

Alright. Okay like don’t speak to me then. Tosser. Just forgot his ciggies. I never liked his smokey breath anyway, tasted like shit in an ashtray. He thought it made him look good, but he’s a tosser. Nuff said.

There are lights approaching on the road, so they’ll be here within minutes. I can’t stop this kid screaming, where the fuck is this bloody dolly? I can’t believe they like never mentioned it before they left: “the kid needs this dolly, don’t lose it, ok?” but they never said a word.

Typical. Surely I’ll be to blame, won’t get no more babysitting jobs from this, so there goes my extra pocket money.


Shut up! Shouting at her don’t help like.

Here they are. Fuck.

“Hello, Harriet, it’s Mrs. Harmmond here.”

“Hi there, this is Mr. Harmmond, where are you? We found her dolly in the back of the car and we know she screams without it and won’t sleep. Harriet? You there?”