It’s cold. It’s quiet.

I’m scared. I don’t want to move. I’m afraid to move. I know I’m not home. This isn’t home.

I hear someone talking far away but I don’t know who they are. Mama and papa must be near. They wouldn’t leave me alone.

Air moves out my nose quickly when I open my eyes quickly, but only my eyes move. I’m still too scared to move.

The room is empty. I’m lying in a crib. I haven’t been in a crib since I was little. Why am I in a crib I wonder, I’m a big kid now. Mama told me so. Mama and papa wouldn’t put me in a crib.

I’m more scared now. I don’t recognize this room, I don’t recognize this crib.

It’s still quiet except for the people talking somewhere far away, so I move a little. I wiggle my legs, jiggle my arms. I turn my head but stop. Something’s on my face, on my cheek. My fingers brush across it but I flinch. It hurts. Only then, do I see that my arm has a bandage.

I sit quickly and look around. The room to the door is open and I see people walking by but the room is empty. There is a window and all I see is a bright blue sky above the light brown dirt of the desert.

I want to cry. Mama and papa aren’t here. My face hurts, my arm hurts.

Through my tears I see you. You sit at the end of the crib, long ears, with feet just as long. You’re bandaged too on your arm and on your cheek just like me.

I crawl to you, pick you up, and hold you. I don’t know where you came from but you give me comfort.

As I hold you, I wonder how I got here, how you got here, and why we are hurt. Mama and papa still aren’t here.

I sit crying quietly, breathing heavily. Mama told me luck wasn’t real, she told me when I wanted to name my puppy Lucky; she said it was a bad name. But I know she is wrong, because I think we are lucky. I don’t know what happened, all I know is it was bad. And you, my rabbit, you and I are lucky to be alive.  

And then mama walks in and I see her arm is bandaged too. And even though she doesn’t believe, I know she was lucky too.

I know I am lucky when my wounds eventually heal. I know mama and papa are lucky when they heal too.

But then there is you. I try to nurse you, to help you, but you never heal. You forever have the bandage stitched to your check and to your arm. I can’t fix you and I know that you are not as lucky as me, mama, and papa.

It makes me so sad, so sad that it makes mama take you away. I don’t know where she took you. I cried so much when you left.

I was lucky to have found you that day. We were lucky to be alive; lucky to have found each other. But we weren’t lucky enough for me to heal you, to make you stay. We weren’t lucky enough to stay together.

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This is mainly about a stuffed animal I had when I was little that did have bandages. I played doctor with it but was sad that the bandages never went away, I thought it never went away. Eventually my parents took it away because it made me really sad because he never got better. I don't know what happened to it :/