Creative writing: skits, short stories, essays


Eyes opening he blinks, sees the dancing bears and lambs that twirl above his bed. He lays there, unaware of the nature of the world beyond. There is the soft, big one and the bigger one and the smaller ones. Then there is the furry one. There is the green room and the blue room, and the other rooms. His space is here, surrounded by the immobile, plush friends and warm blankets.

His favorite is the dinosaur. He doesn't know why, but it is his dinosaur and it is his favorite. The other animals, the other friends, do not understand as much, or maybe they aren't as soft. They smell different too. The dinosaur is loyal and true and is always with him. They stay together for their adventures, including into the small, loud room outside.

The small, loud room is a strange place. The soft, big one will put him into his special chair and bring the chair into the outside room. Then the whole room will shake and whir. When it stops shaking and whirring, the soft one takes him out and the world has changed. The brown and green things which surround his building are not there, and the big above is a rich shade of blue, decorated by wisps of white.

Sometimes the big above has a giant yellow ball in it, but it is hard to look at. Sometimes it is black and there are white dots that spread around it. Sometimes it is even many different shades of white and gray. When it gets like this, the soft one and the big one will move faster while outside, and sometimes the moving air will bring spits of wetness. Those make the blankets less comfortable.

The blankets are a good thing. They remind him of the great warmness, though he seems to be forgetting that place. But even if he remembers, or if he forgets, the blankets feel warm and safe and good. He especially likes the thin ones.

Sometimes, maybe once in a forever, while the outside is bright and not dark, they sit him at the big, flat, high up thing. He has his own chair, and so do all of the big and small ones. The furry one does not have a seat.

Everyone makes different noises. He does not understand most of it, but he loves it when they come together and they laugh. Laughter is a great thing and he loves it. When it is loud, and every one is sharing it, he joins, not because he understands the joke but because he laughs with the ones who are laughing.

He loves the colors of his food. They are orange and green and white and they taste good. Sometimes the big ones will make noise while putting it on the little scoop things. Those are the times when it is the most fun to push the food out after they put it in. He laughs about that.

The soft, big one makes his food and their space smells like it a lot. He likes that smell. He likes the soft one's smell too. He likes it especially. He likes her smell and her smile and her warmth. She makes him feel safe and her smile makes him smile.

The bigger one is a little smellier. He maybe does not smile so much as the softer one, but he makes sure that he is kept warm, and he helps to feed him the most. He is also very loud sometimes, but not often. That is OK. The bigger one still makes him feel safe.

The smaller ones are loud and move a lot. It seems like the bigger ones will bring him with them while the smaller ones go do something. He doesn't understand these things, but they seem to have a lot of moving there, and the other big ones, the ones who come only to these other places, seem to look at him and smile.

He thinks of all of these things as he watches the lamb spin around again, and the bear is dancing next to her. They move in circles away from where he can reach but they, too, are his friends. They are part of his safeness and his warmness and this thing that holds him in the back of his head even when no hands are near him. It is the thing that fills him, it is where his hope lives. It is his happiness, his joy and being little and living in a wondrous world.

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