You should really check it out. It's only once a month, and I think it's such a good idea, and I'm looking forward to seeing what everyone makes of the prompts!
After all this time, there it was – there he was – lying right at the bottom of the box.
Officially, we had moved in a little over three years ago, but we still hadn’t managed to completely unpack. I’m sure a very philosophical individual would say at this point about how we don’t need all of our junk but I’m not one of those people. I like having stuff. Every piece of so-called junk has it’s own story.
I reached in and picked my old friend up. He hadn’t changed a bit. With all the articulation that a two year old could muster, the day Dad had brought him home, I had appropriately named him ‘Beary’. To this day I still have a problem with stating the obvious.
The lenses of his glass eyes were scratched, from his many adventures, and parts of his grey fur were almost bare in places. Maybe I had given him one too many cuddles. Little specks of pink nail varnish still clung to his paws from the time I had decided to give him a manicure. Mum had spent hours trying to get it off, and the house had smelt of remover solution for days afterward.
With a smile, I carried him down the stairs and into the sitting room. In pride of place I set him into the big antique armchair. Jake looked up at me over his glasses, then, glanced towards the new arrival.
“Should I be jealous?”
“Of Beary?” I replied. “Always.”
