I was feeling a little dark after reading The Rugrats Theory, and I was intrigued by the idea of Tommy being a stillborn, and that's why Stu's always in the basement making toys. So I whipped this little heartbreaker up in record time.

Enjoy!

"The death of a child is the single most traumatic event in medicine. To lose a child is to lose a piece of yourself."
-Dr. Burton Grebin

Smack.

Clunk.

Smack.

The hammer came down with a dull thud as I pounded the nail into the wooden wheels of the train. Each sound echoed off the walls of the basement, ringing down to a hollow sound before completely fading, only to replaced by another noise almost immediately after. The train was near done, just the wheels needed to be secured into place, and then the paint would go on. I had small containers of blue, green, red, and yellow all ready to be put on, and then the toy would be ready.

Ready for a son who wouldn't be able to play with them.

The hollow voice in my head bitterly reminded me of what I try not to think of. All of my effort that I put into the toys I build, all worthless. Every little detail I put onto the numerous cars and trains that I build, only to sit on a shelf in the basement, not having a son to play with them. Not having a son to cause them so much damage and wear that they would almost certainly break. But, that was what toys were made for. They were made for the joy and entertainment of kids, not the attempt of filling a void in a grieving father's heart over the loss of his child.

I gave the hammer a last swing, putting the last nail into place. The train wheeled flawlessly, nails holding everything securely into place and rolling the train softly. I reached for the red paint, which was going to be the main color for the carriage and overall theme.

Tommy's room color and theme was red.

I never say anything to Didi. Or anyone, for that matter. They can already tell, by how many toys I build, to only go on the shelf. They already notice, how that in every toy, there is a theme of red, for the room he never got to sleep in, or the small accents of blue, for the small blue eyes that never got to open.

I placed the paintbrush in the small container, and proceeded to use small, gentle strokes to paint the main carriage. The paint jobs on every toy need to be perfect, just in case, if my baby boy were ever to come back, not matter how unlikely, he would have a perfect toy to play with.

There aren't enough words in the world, to describe how much I miss Tommy. He was my first child, my first baby boy. He wasn't even born yet, and I already knew he would have so potential, so much to give to the world. Simply by the way he kicked, I knew he would be an energetic kid, and an adventurous one at that. I drew up the schematics for a tree house the day we found out he was a boy. We would build it together, and have so many adventures, just dad and son, in the house we built together.

But, Tommy hadn't even opened his eyes, before he was taken away from us. The light of my world, the apple of my eye, gone before I could even look him in the eyes, seeing the bright light that showed a little heartbeat and a bright mind.

The carriage was finished, so I set a small fan I kept in the basement on the paint to help it dry faster. I set to work on the pilot, or the lead car. Hopefully, by the time I was finished painting the lead car, the carriage would be dry, and ready to add the blue accents.

My mind, no matter how hard I try, always returns back to Tommy. I keep myself busy, building and constructing numerous toys for a son who isn't here, but he always creeps back into my mind.

I always think, if there was a way to avoid this. Didi, and all of the doctors at the hospital Tommy was delivered at, told me there was no stopping this, that it was just a choice of nature.

If that's the case, I will always harbor a hatred of nature, for taking my baby away from me.

I finished the lead car, moving the fan to blow on it, and checking the carriage paint. The red was flawless and dry, so I grabbed the bright blue. I always paint with the same color blue, just to trick my mind, even for a second. This blue is on every toy I've made, so whenever I look at the paint, I can fool myself, just a little, that I'm looking into Tommy's eyes.

The blue accents were finished, as were the accents on the lead car, so I open the tiny container I keep behind the tool box. It's nothing big, just a small three drawer desk organizer. I open up the top drawer, revealing three tubes of metallic paint. I grab the small tube of gold, and return the container to its spot.

I carefully paint the words in the middle of the carriage, not moving or messing up the wording in any way. There's no messing up, even if it was for a lost cause. But, I still allowed myself to hope, that maybe, somehow this would help.

I finally finished, standing back to admire the toy.

Across the middle, in gold cursive, read The Tommy Express.

I allowed time for the writing to dry, making sure it was absolutely dry and wouldn't mess up if something accidently brushed against it.

I grabbed the small foot stool that was hidden behind the work table, and set it by the far wall. I stepped up on it, holding the train tenderly in my hands, and placed the train carefully on the shelf, sitting right next to the red jack in the box, with small blue clowns on it.

I climbed down the latter, and turned back to my table. I grabbed the red paint, and started the cycle again, making another toy for a son I never had.

So? How was it? I'm actually proud of this one, which really never happens with my stories. But, check out the Rugrats Theory on CreepyPasta! Well, unless you want your childhood to be ruined. I know mine was.

R&R!