He is roughly stitched, seams that haven’t been mended for countless years. His clumsy feet slowly plop, one after another, in the exact fashion that you would expect out of any life given stuffed animal. Constantly trudging in basic conjunction with no progress as each step dips into a void of darkness. There legs get tired also, stuffed animals that is.
A foot ahead is a field of overly excited cattails that sway with the breeze, lying beneath golden lights that lightly bob in the air, reflecting the setting sun. His eyes used to glow a vibrant blue but the happy life that used to remain has turned to two dark sockets that solemnly rest in blackness. It’s a sad story, you see.
He strains to give time existence “have I been here for a thousand years, a hundred, forever?” but there’s no use for time in this world, or more of, no reality of it. If he could only obtain one of those orbs of warmth, he could be happy, the orbs that hold dreams within themselves. “Is it that I’m weak? Am I not trying hard enough?”. The thoughts that create insanity, thoughts that are repeated infinitely.
The sunset it self is ironic, a natural occurrence of beauty has now been labeled a vile torment. It never sets never changes, yet only tortures the sad being. A pallet of magnificent colors that mock the idea of being happy.
It’s a sad story but if he can find the courage, the strength to continue on, his curse will one day be broken. The happiness of a dream isn’t found while wallowing in your own dismay or in depression. It is found when you choose to deny defeat, deny the cruel existence of logic and fight for your dream. The sun will finally set and those lights will then shine brightest.
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