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Welcome To The Doll House
A Tales From Wilton Manors Publication
Trouble in the Dreamhouse!!!
Zine 2 (2015-06)
I'LL MAKE YOU A SANDWICH ALL RIGHT
Written by DeAnna M. Majors
INT. BARBIE AND KEN’S HOUSE - DAY
BARBIE, 22, SOBS while she scrubs the dishes in her pink
porcelain sink. She looks around at the perfect Malibu
Dream House that is the core of her pretty, plastic existence.
Barbie appears perfect on the outside. She wears a size four
in all of her expensive, designer clothing, never goes without
a meticulous manicure, and carries herself with poise all of
Everything in the kitchen is perfect, from the pristine, pink
marble counter tops to the purple ceramic floors. Barbie
flings the plate in her hand, but it’s plastic, so attempting to
break the dish does not satiate her anger.
Dammit! Dammit it all to hell!
After a few moments of emotional release, Barbie becomes
quiet and sits down at her plastic dining table with its plastic
KEN, 24, enters the house and strolls into the kitchen.
How was your day baby?
Ken flashes Barbie a smile filled with perfect, white teeth.
It was perfect as usual. I cleaned your house, did your
laundry, ironed your clothes, mowed your lawn, and
walked your dog.
Good girl! You are such a perfect wife.
Ken glances around the kitchen. Anger floods his perfect,
Where’s my sandwich?
Barbie launches out of her chair in a flurry of activity and
races to the powder blue Frigidaire. She pulls out Roma
tomatoes, arugula lettuce, and mozzarella cheese.
Ken saunters to where Barbie is standing.
Did you forget what the rules are?
Barbie? I give you this perfect house to live in, that perfect
pink Corvette parked in the driveway, and all of the other
perfect things you own.
Ken runs his hand up Barbie’s back. Barbie stiffens as he
gets near her neck.
All I ask for in return is that you have my sandwich waiting
on the table when I get home.
I’m so sorry Ken! It’s just that Skipper called, and the dog
wouldn’t behave, and--
Ken interrupts her with a maniacal LAUGH. He grabs
Barbie by the throat and SLAMS her against the refrigerator.
I am tired of your excuses you dim witted bimbo. When I
say want a sandwich, that means you make the sandwich.
Veggies, cheese, and balsamic vinaigrette on rye.
As Ken strikes Barbie repeatedly, a resonating THWACK
fills the air.
Tears fall down Barbie’s perfect, rosy cheeks, but she
Please Ken! I swear it will never happen again.
Ken releases Barbie and admires his reflection in the
window above the sink.
It had better not. Now make my damn sandwich.
Ken stalks out of the kitchen.
Barbie stands over the sink crying once again.
I just don’t understand. It’s just a damn sandwich.
She stops crying, inhales, and admires her own reflection in
the window. She continues to prepare the sandwich when her
expression changes from sadness to resolve.
I’ll make you a sandwich all right.
She piles the toppings on the rye bread and cuts the
sandwich in half on the plate. Barbie pauses for a second,
then opens the refrigerator and pulls out a container of Grey
She slathers the sandwich with the spicy mustard and
replaces the bread. Ken hates mustard.
She calls out to Ken in her perfectly pitched voice.
Your sandwich is ready!
Ken reenters the kitchen and takes a seat at the table.
Now that’s a good wife. I guess old dogs can learn new
Barbie takes him the sandwich and sits it down on the table.
Ken takes a large bite and instantly spits it out.
I hate mustard you wench!
I know you don’t like it, but I do.
Ken starts to get up from the table, but Barbie stops him
dead in his tracks. She produces a pink, diamond crusted 9
mm pistol from behind her back and shoots Ken, point
blank, in the center of his forehead.
Damn. I got blood on my perfect pink wall.
Barbie sits down across from Ken’s dead body, takes
the sandwich from in front of him and takes a giant bite.
Yum! Not bad if I do say so myself.
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DeAnna M. Majors