Hey all! Whoa! I just looked at my followers counter today and I'm at 94! o.O The last time I looked at it, it was at 70... it's pretty much skyrocketed since then, so I'm happy about that. Thanks, everyone. Y'all are awesome. ;) I have a little challenge for you guys - think you can get me to 100 by next Monday?
Here's the deal. I'm going to post a poem today that I wrote quite awhile back. However, I also wrote a short story as a companion to said poem. So if I hit 100 followers by Monday, I'll show y'all the story, which I'm immensely proud of and in my opinion is one of my best ones. :)
So spread the word if y'all want to read the short story "Perfection"! For now, we have the poem version. (It's a tad long, by the way.) This one I wrote in fifth grade, and the story I wrote in the summer of eighth grade, so it should be interesting to see the difference between the two, yes?
He sat. Unwanted. Hidden behind the mountain of spotless teddies. Behind the mountain of beauty. Behind the mountain of ... them.
He was not one of them. Of course, he wished he was. He had never stopped wishing he was. But he knew he would never be one of them. After all, he was hardly a bear at all.
It was dark. As dark as his mood. The shopkeeper was about to close down, When, She came.
She wheeled herself in, Even though the tall man—her grandfather?— Offered to. Only nine, Or maybe even ten.
Both legs in braces, Face twisted in a painful grimace, And the thinnest arms he had ever seen.
She was singing. A simple song, About loneliness and tears and sorrow.
Her voice . . . Oh, her voice. Her voice was like the sound of sunbeams and rainbows.
How he wanted her! How he wished she would pick him! How he wanted to cuddle her, to comfort her, to tell her that it was going to be all right! Come here. Come here. Please.
He could see her, Determinedly pushing herself into the shop, Could see the disgusted face of the shopkeeper, Could feel the pain of the girl. He hated that shopkeeper!
She wheeled herself around, Staring, Repeatedly circling the shop, Looking at the dolls, the trains, the books, and singing under her breath All the while.
They all sat up straight and tall, Put on their biggest smiles, Willed her to come closer.
Time after time, the man said, “Is this the one?” Time after time, the girl answered, “No . . . not this one.”
Then, she stopped. Right in front of the teddies. Wheeled her way along the shelves. “I don’t think so. It’s not this one.”
She stopped again. This time, there was a ripple of excitement. Everyone straightened up. He could feel it, too. Please. Just this once. Please.
She was going to choose. Then, Her eyes lit up. As bright as stars. “Yes!”
Of course, it wasn’t him. No one ever chose him. Why had he even bothered to get his hopes up?
The man reached up. Strange. The man was reaching towards the top shelf. The top shelf was the shelf of faulty toys. He was on the top shelf.
He didn’t realize it until it happened.
The rough, calloused hand closed around him. He was too shocked to be nervous or excited. Lots of bears tried to block the old hand As it made its way out. He knew they were as amazed as he was, Amazed and jealous and just downright furious! But they were no match for the strong old man.
The little girl reached up and took him. Hugged him. Oh, how he loved it!
He cuddled her right back. Murmured soothing words in her ear. He knew that this was what he had suffered all those years for. This one moment Of finally being chosen.
The man was driving to their new home. She was singing softly to him. It was a different song, About peace and beauty and happiness. He was just basking in the sound of her voice.
Suddenly the man said, “Why did you choose that one? There were so many nicer toys in that shop. And besides, this one’s so old and faded and dusty and patched.”
He tensed up. Why had she chosen him? Did she just feel sorry for him? Was she going to throw him out? Why?
She looked at the man incredulously. “Oh, Grandpa. How could you say that?” She reached down and lovingly fingered his soft ear.