Lullabye by Lesley Whyte

For my fourth birthday, they bought me a doll house. It was a beautiful thing, carved to look like my grandparents' house. The one that got sold off the year before. I didn't know if it had been made specially for me or if it had been in the house somewhere before they sold it. I played with it every day, morning 'til night. And then, when Mummy and Daddy woke me up, I'd sneak out of bed and play with it some more.

For my fifth birthday, they got me a bird. A real live bird. I was scared of birds, so I put its cage in the doll house and spun it around so I couldn't see the bird anymore. It would flap and sqwawk and make this horrible keening noise all through the day and night. I couldn't play with the doll house anymore. So when Mummy and Daddy woke me up, I'd sing the mockingbird song to myself, over and over and over until they stopped.

For my sixth birthday, they didn't get me anything. They were gone by then. Mummy lives in a big house with lots of other women now. They won't let me see her. They won't tell me where Daddy is.