Theodore, Not Teddy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Story of a teddy bear reminicing about his life as time leaves him behind.

Theodore, Not Teddy
He stares blankly at the wall of books across from him, having forgotten how long he’s been here.  The hardwood shelf underneath him starts to hurt as his legs hang from the edge of his roost. He hears the murmurs of voices on the far side of the room. They're loud enough to stand out in the silence but not loud enough to distinguish words. 
The blurry view he had grown accustomed to  wont show more than mere shapes, as the plastic of his eyes cannot focus.
The rush of emotions used to flare up with mild disappointment, as he watched the children play, back when he had been a new bear. Now, he sits alone, as depression creeps deeper into his lonely, stuffed heart. Often he thinks of how amazing it would be to be able to sigh over his frustrations, blink his dry eyes, or itch the spot where his ragged tag still tickles.
A thought floods back of long ago, wonderful memories, that he could now describe as hellish and torturous for him. He was placed, and moved, and saw rooms. ROOMS! with an "S"! Every day seemed unpredictable, and there were new adventures to be had at every turn. His favorite was, of course, "Pirate-Bear, Scourge of the Seas!" as little Chloe "Captain Blue-Beard" Price had dubbed him.
He had been given his own ship, the "Not-so-Jolly rodger" where together they had bested the dreaded "Long Max Silver" in a stormy battle waged from bunk to bunk, and lasted well past bedtime. In the end, he had won the honor of snuggles and the prominance of sharing covers. But that was before the move, before she had left him and abandoned him to the lonliness of the library.
The dim streetlight filtering through the storm and library windows highlights the dust floating through the air. Slowly they settle into his fur and will remain there as a reminder of what happens to a bear that has outlasted playtime. His eyes well up with something that he cannot describe, as he doesn't believe he even has a tear in him to shed. like some melancholy witness to the world around him he stays, he watches, and he feels everything.
He sighs in his mind as he rehashes this particular series of thoughts, capping it off at the usual, sarcastic, "Thank God im alive to witness THIS." Through all these years he has wished for his end.
Thunder angrily follows the flash through windows and the lights falter, then all is dark. The storm stirs itself up more and crashes its bolts against his library. Glass shatters and sparks ignite the books and pillows, piled beside his shelf. Water pours in through the window and the wind beats the flames further into life, unabashedly ignorant of his plight.
"Fear be damned, depression be damned!" He screams in silence, "i'm not ready to go!"
The fear that has sparked in his stuffing, thunders through his limbs. A jolt of desperation fires itself through the fragile threads holding him tight. And a twitch. It was new, this sensation in his arms. These years of placid, desperation and lonliness breaks into a thousand frustrating screams of anger. 
The fires and storm rages further, tearing scars of horror across his home. He pushed with all his strength and will to fall. To be Pirate-Bear once more, this must be a an enemy he defeats. In this... this stormy sea, he will fight with his newly discovered freedom from shelf to shelf and well past bedtime. To escape. To earn the prominant place, among the sheets, among the cuddles that are no more.
Racks collapse, now, barring his escape. They fuel the fires of his nightmare. He crawls along the carpet dragging himself slower and slower as the rain covers and soaks his body. Both arms pull this time, straining at the treads. Wildly, the winds whip the fires in mad arcs tearing their way through every path. The equivalant of lungs in his stuffed chest heave in exhaustion.
"No more," He sighs- rolling onto his back, "There is no more in me."
He watches smoke roll through the racks, and feels the spray of the storm continue to soak into him. Theodore Bear shakes his head minutely at the waste his life has been. All the years on the shelf and he never knew he could live. Truely live.
The fires converge on him, taking his world from him. Everything he knew and had touched was slowly blistered and turned to ash. The last free act of Theodore Bear, was a small tear from his plastic eye rolling down his furry, polyester face.

Submitted: September 17, 2018

© Copyright 2020 Jonathan hanson. All rights reserved.

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Add Your Comments:



r futrell

Great story. I often said the stuff animals play when we're gone.

Sat, October 20th, 2018 3:10am


Thanks. Its one of my favorites

Sat, October 20th, 2018 2:45am

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