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- Joined: Feb 24, 2012
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.
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 :/