Wednesday, February 6, 2013

You’re searching through your closet and find an old stuffed animal or doll from your childhood. It starts to bring back a warm memory of a specific night that’s near and dear to your heart. Suddenly, your stuffed companion begins to talk and says, “There’s something you need to know about that night.” Write this scene. (500 Words or Less)

     The power was out at my father’s house. There was no need to keep the power on at a dead man’s house. My brother and I were going to go through our stuff before sending our wives to clean the place up. We hoped the house would bring a hundred-thousand, but in today’s market who’s to say? I got there before my brother, though it was still well past dark when I got there. I had to use a flashlight to make my way through the clutter in the living room. Ever since the death of my mother when I was a child my father hadn’t been the best housekeeper.
  I managed to make it to my old room without breaking my neck. The room was more or less the way I left it. My father hadn’t turned it into a game room or a store room, in fact it was still just as neat as the last time I was here. My old bed was still made, all the pictures of my friends and I still sat on the dresser. Even the posters I had taken out of all the video game magazines still hung on the wall. If it wasn’t for the missing clothes and empty drawers, you’d think someone still lived in this room.
The things I was really after were in my closet. Things I’m glad my brother wasn’t here to see me look through. My stuffed animals. I had a vacuum cleaner box full of them. I used my flashlight and found the box instantly. I stepped into the closet and opened the box and pulled out the first one. It was a stuffed dog I had named Dale. I set Dale on the floor and reached into to pull out a clown. His red shirt was still silky to the touch and his face still creeps me out as much as ever. I reached in again and pulled out my favorite, a pink creature with a white belly, white mouth, white tufts of hair coming off it’s head, a button nose, and plastic eyes. I called him George, and I talked to him, played video games with him, we even watched movies together. I remember getting him, I think when I was eight years old. Yeah, I was 8 because I got him from a girl in a white gown at the hospital, the night my mother died.
“There’s something you need to know about that night.” George’s plastic eyes blinked. They were just painted plastic, but they blinked. His stitched mouth moved too, revealing a crocheted cavity with a little red tongue. I nearly dropped George, but managed to hold on to him.

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