Little It

(NOTE: Please respect copyright)

The loveless sonnets of Little It (The unfinished work)

There once was a family that lived in a space, in the corner, of a shop, in the Universe, in a mall. They awoke one day without memory or thought, just the accumulated possessions of a life they had not remembered living. The little girl was without a name, but it was decided that she would be called ‘it’.

1. It

In a space, in the corner of the Mall
In the Universe, there lived a small child
That owned so many things – from big to small.
High on a pile in the store they were piled.
All her memories were killed while It slept.
All It had were the many things she owned.
All the emptiness in life slowly crept
All around It in her quite public home.
It’s mother could not fathom what to do.
Not a thing could be purchased by her thought.
It’s father simply did not have a clue,
Past experience and life all for naught
Little It, and her parents felt quite small
In the vast Universal Shopping Mall.
Its parents were not well at all, something was not right, What had happened to their minds, their bodies and their might. They had no words, held hands like little children lost and alone. Their tired eyes followed madly along the four walls of their small shop. They looked terribly confused. It spoke to them softly, sitting between them. As she sat she noticed a grand and beautiful door through the glass window at her shopfront. She quickly led her parents to the door and thought it might hold the secret to their lives and memories.

2. The Mall The Universe The Sign

The Shopping Mall was all that they could see.
A Universe that spread across the floor
Expressed in perfect linearity
And at its centre stood a Magic Door.
Above, an exit notice clearly read
Quote: “Passage through the Magic Door denied”
Below that, letters D. E. A. D. “DEAD”
“The choice is yours! The outcome is implied”
It and her parents searched upon the wall
And found another helpful little sign
“You’ll find Yourself in Universal Mall”
And “If you shop your life will be just fine!”
“Yourself” cried it, the answer she desired!
She’d go (not her parents) they were tired

So this little bitty girl named ‘it’ with her white dress and itty, bitty shoes of white made ready to find “Herself” inside the Universal shopping mall. But how in the Universe would she learn to shop? She could not simply buy things, because she couldn’t remember how to do it. All she had was a far off memory of a thought, as natural as a breath or the puff of air her eyelashes blew into the cold, white and orderly world ahead of her. She felt at once quite stupid, and thought she’d never recover the secrets they had lost while they slept.


But who would teach young It to shop from scratch?
Could it be the pale and frightened mother?
But what about the father could she catch
Some knowledge . . . but no, he wouldn’t bother.
And just as hope was fading to despair,
A rapping from a clear and Magic Door
Revealed a thing named ‘Pickins’, with green hair.
And ‘Pickins’ was just rotten to the core.
“What, what, what?” The Pickins shrieked at young ‘it’
But ‘it’ had thought these words and tone polite.
Inside the Pickins head, a light bulb lit,
To use this girl, who hadn’t any fright.
The Pickins had a goal it thought to try
To draw this girl outside and there she’d die.

Her parents were at the moment safe within the store, so it decided what to do with Pickins outside the magic door. Pickins had never been invited in to the mall. He wished for time eternal to rock the perfect calm and white that lay inside: To bring danger such that had never been seen, (And in fact was prohibited). ‘It’ was a tender child, and saw no reason to punish this green thing, she wanted it to ‘buy’ as well, and so she let it in.


A Thing so green and blue she’d never seen
And thought no ill would come of her invite.
But bark and leaf and rock had never been
Beyond the magic doors closed ever tight.
The Pickin spilled into the mall like sand
And splashed about the shoes on ‘its’ white feet
It hunted ‘it’ awhile but couldn’t stand.
The Pickins cried in anguish and defeat!
It squirmed like mud towards her little store.
‘It’s’ parents scratched their heads, were unaware
Of Pickins, come to take them to their doom.
The last ‘It’ saw of them were piles of hair.
The Pickin failed to catch the girl, she ran.
But Pickins had devised an evil plan.


A sign had fallen from the wall and cracked upon the floor, a warning from the management, about the magic door. The manager – Mrs Focault, had made it crystal clear: The mall is like a giant vault, where danger is quite queer.

“The Pickins is a force beyond control
The apprehension caught within your throat
The lurking danger rapt in a black hole
This is a solemn warning so take note!
Beyond the door are RISKS and PERILS great!
MENACE held beyond its magic border
The HAZARD is contained outside the gate
But! Inside the mall control and order! ”
It ran and ran and pondered long and deep
About the life she must have led before
Of all her memories piled into a heap
Like obsolete possessions on the floor
That light makes faded, wears away the shell
All Standardized: impossible to sell.

‘It’ felt a streak of …thing? A surge of …that ? Perhaps the thing she felt would like to chat. She named it, gave it face and called it ‘fear’, and then it came again and oh my dear! This ‘fear’ it fleeted, stung and ran as fast as she could run and sometimes even past.
The outside had come in, what does it mean? For just behind the Pickins as it entered so to did a bright and terrible light that filled It with ‘fear’ and gave her fright. This new being spilled into the mall just behind the Pickins, and It feared it might be another monster just like the Pickin. She heard a voice from far away give name to this new being of light, “The METAFICT is come. We all must run!”


It ran and ran into the cool white maze
Away from colour, scorching pure and bright
Into the dim familiar shopping haze
Away she took her fear, from Pickins sight.
Her comfort was the cool fluorescent light,
The buzzing of electric little stars.
Not like the searing warmth she did invite
Into her mind, to riddle her with scars.
What was that pure and warm convulsive heat
That penetrated deep into her world
That passed the Magic Door and did unseat
The order of the universe and curled
The very fibre of this little girl
And crushed her courage like synthetic pearl?

Her legs and heart and toes and hands, the hairs upon her arms that stand, the very thoughts inside her head were evidence of parents dead upon the floor of her white shop. Something so ‘completely other’, something called the ‘Metafict’, these thoughts she had as she ran now into the haze. Her thoughts were flicked out of her mind, by noises, voices, soft and kind, that swelled and rose about her ears, and fell into the shallow. The orphans of the mall were here; their eyes were wide with countless fears, abandoned souls attached to each of two blue adults, like a leech.


‘It’ used their songs to guide her through the mall
The voices that had filled her heart with hope.
But what she found were thirty short (not tall)
Young orphans tied with thick transparent rope.
Their parents held their little orphan’s hands
Although each orphan knew their parents dead.
Just mindless bodied, drifting piles of sand
Who forced their young to shop and live unfed.
The orphans each in turn with sombre tone
Began to sing a frightful little tune
That filled the silent mall with mournful moans
And told a tale of ‘Metafict’ come soon
Of ‘Pickins’, the green harbinger of doom
And sacrifices in this land of gloom.

The orphans were trapped, tied with invisible rope to their cruel parents. That is why they sang such sad and sombre songs, ‘It’ thought. The parent corpses one by one, shopped, and shopped, were never done, but kept on shopping day and night. They shopped and shopped with all their might. They had Forgotten they were dead, “Instead of life, we’ll shop instead”. So ‘It’ decided she must act, and made herself a silent pact. To free the orphans, purchase food, find a place she could elude Metafict and Pickin too, get on with life, and buy some shoes…if only she knew how.

The parents had been shopping now for years
Had little time to live, and so they died
Were so consumed with paying the cashiers
Their bodies worked but all their brains were fried.
To keep their little children safe and sound
They’d tied them by the hands with thickest rope
And so each little orphan thing was bound
To two dead parents without any hope.
It must have been this way for little It
Before she lost her memory that day.
A jigsaw puzzle piece that’s made to fit
Into the greater picture (NOT to stray)
Just waiting for their time to ebb away
The products of their parent’s slow decay

The orphans begged and pleaded to young It
To free them, cut the ropes and let them go.
But these thick cords resisted every bit
Of effort that she had from head to toe.
And then a plan inside her head was struck
The parents had forgotten they had died
So she’d remind them and with any luck
The orphan’s little hands would come untied.
She balanced on a cart and gently posed
And waved about her tiny little hand
And screamed out loud “The centre is now closed”
And all the parents turned to Piles of sand!
The orphans were all free. They sang and cheered
And for a time forgot all they had feared.
A spell was caste, and crept over her, changed context, slapped her language slowly out of her head. She felt comfortable in the lull, fulfilled by the idea of just being here, around, she pulled the white dress higher above her knees, tied her hair with piece of twine that she took gingerly from a shop front display. She lingered at a large mirrored panel, and became very aware of herself.

“If that is me, I think I’m going to scream.
I’m like so tired of that stupid dress.
I can’t believe it. Was I In a dream?
These rags are so unlikely to impress”
She danced around the floor in perfect form
Making sure to peek at every mirror
She stopped at one, “These colours are too warm!
They don’t bring out my eyes” She moved in nearer.
She saw a faint white twinkle in her eyes
A memory composed of purest light
And heard her past, her frightened little cries
From deep within her minds eternal night
But on she went, conversing with herself
A little shopper trapped upon a shelf
Its pretty eyes were glazed with greedy thoughts
The spell she had been warned about was cast
No matter how persistently she fought
She shopped at every store, from first to last.
Madam Focault, looked on. Her Plan had worked
“The young nuts are the hardest ones to crack”
But in Its mind a hint of light had lurked
A light that led her ever slowly back…
A light that made her purchases seem dull
And light in weight, like dust on flimsy air.
It ebbed away the very potent lull
Replacing thoughts of GREED with ones of care
And orphans and her plan to stay alive
To get to “Promised land” on level five.


A pile of dirt that lay upon the floor
Began to move, and formed a big green head
And on that head, a wide and slackened jaw
With teeth as sharp as razors, hard as lead.
It chomped upon one child, and with a crack
It spat out broken bones onto the floor
The crowd of orphans pushed and hurried back
Into the labyrinth-canyons of the store.
But ‘it’ had seen this creature once before (USE THIS THREE TIMES LEARNING FROM THE WORLDS DANGER)
The Pickin had returned but thrice as mean
To finish off the job…but with a roar
The time had come for Pickin’s vacuum clean
And with a swirl, and little fuss at all
She’d blow the Pickins outside of the mall.

NEXT : To reverse him outside the magic door
He went to run but hadn’t any legs

The incandescent beams, the perfect white,
The products and the order of the mall
Were muddied by the scariest of sights
As now the ‘simply otherness’ was all.
The METAFICT, with pure corrosive heat
And arms of flame that hadn’t any shape
Had cornered ‘It’ and there was no retreat
Her friends were saved but she had no escape.
The METAFICT then entered through her eyes
And filled her mind with images of green
And clouds that flitted clearest bluest skies
As though it were another home she’d seen
A place of beauty she had never been
The infinite disorder of a dream

The magic door closed tight behind young ‘It’ and quiet fell about the stores and shops. The hidden orphans cried and sobbed a bit, and tears cascaded down their cheeks in drops. The simple, ordered lines about the mall, the artificial glow was not so bright but ill and dim. They didn’t shine at all like METAFICT, whom they re-named “sunlight.”

(Please respect Copyright)

Little It


Sydney, Australia

  • Artist

Artist's Description

In a space, in the corner of the Mall
In the Universe, there lived a small child
That owned so many things – from big to small.
High on a pile in the store they were piled.

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