The tree was cut down. I used to climb it to see onto the roof of my house. I threw my bear up there once and wanted to see if he had committed himself self to that area, as it was where he would call home for nearly a decade. They tore down that house to erect another when I was 15. The bear was returned to me; greener than I remembered, smaller too. The left eye hacked at, as if by a nervous black bird, set on stealing some shiny trinket… but the bear, keen to hang on to what he remembered, resisted the birds pecks and prods. It aged him though; you could see it on his face. He did not seem happy to see me, but why would he? I did hurl him atop the roof so many years ago.
We returned to my regular routine. The bear was given a spot between my most prized stuffing-filled friends, many of whom he remembered. Everyone seemed to be getting along, but underneath the worn, faded surface Ted longed for the freedom which he became so accustom too. The last ten years were hard on him, harder than any ten years should be for a stuffed animal. They changed him, made him misanthropic and guarded.
I awoke one morning to find Ted missing. One of them must have seen something, but no one said a word. The bedroom window, slightly ajar. He left. He didn’t belong here, with us, not any more. No note, no words, just a small shiny trinket on the window sill. I’ll always be around, watching you.
Short Story, written by Shane Clarke out of boredom and frustration
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