Now to the Real Stuff

I have to admit for most of my youth and time around Cara, she was going through the discovery phase of her life. This is different for each kid and her's was a little scarier than most...Therefore the events and actions mentioned here should not be taken as a true reflection of Cara, as we can say that she was possessed by horomones during those years. Now she is a great person with a kind spirit to people, animal, and inanimate objects.
Most of our family stories have been told a million times over and I am sure that this one has made it around the family chat circle more than once. However, I know Amber is a fan of this story and Mom did suggest it. So in honor of Cara's birthday and growth into the Cara we know and love, here it is.
Cara The Angel From Below
As a punk teenager Cara was a constant source of change, from hair color to clothes style. However, she remained a true rocker to the core and her chic band was a powerhouse of talent. Venus 478 won first place in the Battle of the Bands, back when it used to be good and actually mean something. They were successful and all girls. But being girls didn't chain them to behaving in the cliche girl way. No they went out to make a statement, "Don't Mess With The Goddesses." To prove their point they had various items. Terror was their main tactic and their paraphenilia often protrayed death. One such object was a small soft bodied doll, which I'm pretty sure Hayley and I played with.
One afternoon I was gathering stuff to take to Hayley's, excited about the days potential. It was summer, it was sunny, it a break of some sort, and Mom was in a good mood. Everything was going my way and I only had to grab some cloths for my doll from the cardboard dresser in the closet. Little did I know what lurked in the corners. As many of you can recall our room was painted a dark purple, black at night, and didn't welcome the sun as much as the current petite sea foam green. This color aided in obscuring the contents of the closet. Although there was bountiful light the deep recesses of the space could never been exposed. On top of the lack of light, there was mass amounts of clothes hanging or dropped or cluttering the closet. In short to find something in the closet you had to lean in with your arms outstretched and rest your chin on the clothes protruding out. Resembles a zombie if that helps. So there I was just a young sprout searching for her goodies.
I was scrambling around without any inclination to what I might encounter and no fear that there should be anything to fear. Besides the creepy catdoll thing someone made Nat and Amber, my closet was safe, and I knew where the creepy catdoll was, shoved on the top shelf in a corner, I put it there. As I scrounged around I felt something soft and squishy hit my hand. Huh. It wasn't clothes, it wasn't my doll she was already out, all the stuffed animals were in the cabbage patch cart or downstairs, and it wasn't a cat it would have made a noise...What could it possibly be? Curiosity killed the cat and it darn near killed me of fright. It took me a minute or two to withdraw my hand, the item kept getting caught on all the junk in there and again you have to balance your weight on your heels and chin on hanging clothes. Finally my hand emerged. I took a step back and looked down. It was a naked doll and I held it face down. "Hmm this isn't mine," I thought as I flipped it over. I don't think it is possible to describe the utter terror I felt looking at the poor creature. I was young and not exposed to the such things. The doll had red nail polish splashed all over it, like blood. There were pins stuck in her head and body...and her eyes had been punched out...I was shaking as I shoved the tormented doll back in the closet, in the bottom corner to the left. There it would stay, out of sight out of mind right? I raced to Hayley's, screw the doll clothes I didn't want to risk finding something worse. I told Hayley about one of our friend's awful demise and we looked toward her bedroom door wondering what other toys of ours had been kidnapped and subjected to such unthinkable acts.
At nights I would lay on my itchy flea and crumb ridden bed and stare at the open closet door, there was no way to close it, too much stuff. The room with the dark paint seemed like a tiny box and the only other occupant could race through the opening of the closet and demand why I let them get her. Then proceed to kill me. I lost sleep to those haunting thoughts of an angry doll and a mean sister for leaving her there and not even sleeping in her bed so she could be the one attacked.