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Suggested prompt...
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Sad Little Bear
He remembered that first day as though time had not passed. The grown-ups held him by his waist and swung him to and fro while the child gazed at him in wonder, giggling with delight. Small, pudgy hands squeezed and held him tight, while strong gums gnawed and sucked his left ear until it was mangled beyond recognition.
In the early years, days were spent attending lavish tea parties and participating in extravagant parades, always wearing the gaudy orange hat and the pink feather boa. Evenings, he was lovingly held close in peaceful slumber; though he often woke up on the floor as if he'd spent the evening on a wild bender.
Later on, he was privy to such classified information as to what was said at recess, to whom and how, and detailed dossiers of those who didn't play well with others. It never occurred to him that he could retire on the royalties that such a tell-all book would bring.
Recent years were a mixture of long hours of solitude, lying prone on the flowered bedspread, and listening intently to the tortured lament of teenage love, offering the condolence only a hug can provide.
It was all coming unravelled now, as he sat watching her pack her worldly possessions, eagerly anticipating the freedom of university. He contemplated his dismal future, imagined it would involve being boxed and sent to a charity where he would lay with other abandoned stuffies, bewailing better times.
She stood up then, set the last box upon the bed beside him and looked around the room, a wistful expression flickering across her face. She picked up the box and, tucking it under her arm, scooped him up in a one-armed hug, squeezing him close to her.
"You have to come with me," she mumbled into his fur. "You're my best friend."
And with that he left the room, held firmly in her hand, happily swinging from one leg, visions of the next great adventure speeding through his fluffy head.
Monica Manning
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12 comments:
oh.. i have a teddy like this... worn and tatty through being loved... amazing photo x
This teddy was the constant companion a little 5 year old boy who recently moved away from the rest of his family. His single mother works nights at a local diner. The little boy dropped this teddy last Saturday when he and his mom went to the laundromat. It fell out of the basket of clean sheets.
Teddy is mourning the loss of the little boy who loved him so very very much.
I was a new bear,
Dropped in a crib,
Clutched by eager hands,
Held to a laughing mouth.
We went everywhere together,
Tea parties and sand box digging,
Nap time and tree climbing.
When I was torn, Mama sewed me up.
I am worn and tired, but loved.
Today is the first day of school for my little girl.
Sad Little Bear
He remembered that first day as though time had not passed. The grown-ups held him by his waist and swung him to and fro while the child gazed at him in wonder, giggling with delight. Small, pudgy hands squeezed and held him tight, while strong gums gnawed and sucked his left ear until it was mangled beyond recognition.
In the early years, days were spent attending lavish tea parties and participating in extravagant parades, always wearing the gaudy orange hat and the pink feather boa. Evenings, he was lovingly held close in peaceful slumber; though he often woke up on the floor as if he'd spent the evening on a wild bender.
Later on, he was privy to such classified information as to what was said at recess, to whom and how, and detailed dossiers of those who didn't play well with others. It never occurred to him that he could retire on the royalties that such a tell-all book would bring.
Recent years were a mixture of long hours of solitude, lying prone on the flowered bedspread, and listening intently to the tortured lament of teenage love, offering the condolence only a hug can provide.
It was all coming unravelled now, as he sat watching her pack her worldly possessions, eagerly anticipating the freedom of university. He contemplated his dismal future, imagined it would involve being boxed and sent to a charity where he would lay with other abandoned stuffies, bewailing better times.
She stood up then, set the last box upon the bed beside him and looked around the room, a wistful expression flickering across her face. She picked up the box and, tucking it under her arm, scooped him up in a one-armed hug, squeezing him close to her.
"You have to come with me," she mumbled into his fur. "You're my best friend."
And with that he left the room, held firmly in her hand, happily swinging from one leg, visions of the next great adventure speeding through his fluffy head.
“Puff,,the magic draaaagon, lived by the sea”
And frolic in the Autu….”
“Ye’uh, ye’uh, ye’uh
You ain’t the only one
You wizardly lizard.”
Loved Monica's response. Wouldn't even try to do it better. Nice.
Thanks S Kay Murphy. I've read your blog and I know you'd come up with something wonderful. Why not do a bear biography? You're on a roll with that! Congratulations on the publication, btw.
No kidding, S Kay,,lol,, that was why my entry was sooo DEEP,,lol..I think Monica wins hands down on this one, A-ginnnn,,, :)
Bertie the bear belonged to the local children's home. He had been passed from kid to kid hoping to bring joy into their troubled lives. He had seen alot of tears and laughter in his time but today was one of those days where the children cried.
His fabric once bright and new, now faded and worn so one could see the stuffing inside. His seems tattered and coming apart. The fullness has been lost in his shoulders from being carried around, squeezed tightly in that little hand. His button nose is missing and his eyes have lost their shine.
He sits weakly now, flopped to one side, contemplating the life he's known. Contemplating the flashes of color he's seen. The brightness in the smiles, the rosy-cheeks, the laughter and hugs.
Inside he felt a hole where his heart used to be. It seemed to grow deeper within him and if he had the ability to produce tears, he would have. Anything to release the pain inside.
But all he could do was sit and think. It eased the pain a bit to recall the happier times. Yet once in a while he again became aware of his current residence and once again the hole in his chest would ache.
He went over his happy memories with ease, running through them in his mind. But once he would come to the time he was left behind by the one he loved most, his mind would jump over it like dancing over hot coals. He didn't wish to relive this memory.
Now he waited for whatever else was to come. Now he waited for what he thought was inevitable. Yet deep inside him was a sliver of a bright shining hope, hope that once again he would be loved.
Retirement. It comes to all of us, he'd heard them say. He didn't think it would ever apply to him though.
Over in the corner he could see the package. Gaily wrapped and trimmed with a huge bow. Nothing could conceal its shape. It had "teddy" written all over it in shape and size. Nothing else looks like a teddy. The wrapping paper went in and out in just the right places, and was wrinkling where it couldn't quite mould itself fully to the fluffy bundle inside.
Retired. The shame of it. After all these years of service. Retired.
The key turned in the lock, a mewling soound came from a bundle in her arms.
He grinned as he handed her the parcel to unwrap. She put the bundle down, and smiled up at him. The interloper was revealed in his golden glory - the very image of what he had looked like when he had first come to the house.
She walked over to me, picked me up and hugged me. "I'm relying on you, Ted, to show this youngster the ropes around my new Amy. Make sure he's there for her like you've been for me, huh?"
My heart swelled with pride. Not retirement after all, but a supervisor's role. Gotta go - got some teaching to do.
I dropped him out the window on the way to Grandma's house. He was my companion, always at my side, not excluding this particular ride to Grandma's.
Daddy drives on the highway, at high speeds, so fast that the broken lines I look down on from my seat seem to bleed into eachother, like watercolors I use in art class.
I was on my knees, my chin draped over the gnape of the open window, the wind fingering my hair and my Teddy's ears. I thought the parkway was beautiful, the pavement black as pitch with only the yellow lines floating like eyes in a dark cave.
I held onto Teddy's hand and lowered him outside of the open window, dangling just above the pavement. The power. The control. It was such an exhiliarating feeling. My Teddy's life was in my hands: I, only I, had the power to drop him or relieve him.
I didn't mean to drop him; I only wanted this powerful feeling, but his hand slipped and he fell onto the road. He was roadkill.
I screamed.
Daddy pulled over to the side, and by the time we got to Teddy he was unregcognizable: a shriveled old man with nothing left, on his last thread of life. He had taken a heavy beating, and it was all my fault.
I was power hungry.
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