"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Saturday, May 12, 2012

The Old Bear

It's been quite a while since I had something to post. Writing this made me sad. Can you guess who it is?

240 words.

The Old Bear

Dust had collected on the antique dresser. Toys still lurked in the corners of the room, hiding in window seat drawers. Photos yellowed with age in the oval frames. Staring at the items, he smiled. The room should have changed more. It should have grown with the boy. Instead it remained locked in his childhood.
            Stepping over that creaky floorboard, his fingers traced some of the letter-blocks and his small treasures. Smiling, he took in each corner of the room. Drawings clung to the walls with withering tape on their slowly curling corners. Seeing his name scribbled in an unruly scrawl, he smiled. Everything here was signed with his full name.
            He’d long since given up going by his full name. Chris to some, Topher to others. It was simpler this way, faster than his five-syllable given name. Only his grandmother and true friends still called him that.
            Reaching his bed, he gingerly sat on its edge, the springs groaned at the unfamiliar weight. Reaching to the pillow, his fingers brushed over synthetic fur, feeling how soft it had remained. The old bear sat propped with the others, arranged delicately across the comforter.
            Holding the toy close, he studied his deep glass eyes and frayed red sweater. Feeling the tag tickle his fingers, he turned the bear over to see his initials, CR. Tears sprang to his eyes at the backwards R.
            “Silly old bear,” he whispered, holding him close.

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