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The word today is 'STROKE': dictionary.com
Looking for a challenge? Wednesday proudly presents "Tail Me". Pick up where the last entry left off and continue the story. We'll have a publishable novel by the end of the day!
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Tha attic is deserted except for Not Gladly, our little abandoned bear. She wanted to travel with Wanda. She wanted to see the world. How did she end up alone with no one to caress her bald spots? She needs a STROKE of miracle, some lightning, right now!
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ReplyDeleteNot Gladly wept. A pool of tears grew on the attic floor and spread relentlessly. She felt as if her life was worthless, that no-one cared about her. She decided she must have done something terrible, something really awful. Why? Why had she been left on her own? Was there no love in the world? Was there no-one to stroke her and wipe away her tears?
ReplyDeleteAfter a time, our Not Gladly stopped weeping. Her fur was damp and she was itchy. She wondered where Wanda was at right now. As she looked around at her surroundings, Not Gladly received a STROKE of good luck, the sound of footsteps on the attic stairs.
ReplyDeleteA miracle? Who could be coming up the stairs? No, wait. She heard a huge commotion outside the door. Was someone having a stroke? What was going on!!??
ReplyDeleteOur Not Gladly was still itchy and feeling bad about herself, her situation, and the world in general. She was alarmed at the commotion on the stairs. She figured someone was angry with her. Taken by a stroke of inspiration, she hustled herself behind a box. Finding an old blanket, she began to stroke it for comfort as the door banged opened.
ReplyDelete"WHERE IS THAT BEAR?" a voice roared. Not Gladly shivered behind her box and clutched the blanket tighter. She heard what sounded like the STROKE of a stick against the door frame, and quivered helplessly. What was happening?
ReplyDeleteA huge man burst into the attic clutching a knarled old cane. He fumbled about, searching for the bear spotting Not Gladly's hiding place. There you are, he said,as his loud voice turned into a gentle growl. I have a special little person who needs you for her friend about now.
ReplyDeleteOur Not Gladly was shivering of fear. Why did the voice of this old grumpy guy turned into a gentle growl ? He must have something in mind. But what ? So Not Gladly had suddently a stroke of genius....
ReplyDeleteNot Gladly knew grown-ups especially old ones had forgot that toys could speak. Children of course knew they could, which is why so many of them have secret friends to share their troubles with. So if he spoke loud then the big bad man would drop him. So taking a deep breath he was just about to shout when the man stopped on the stairs to whisper, 'She will love you like I did' and then he winked his eye and continued back down the stairs where a whiny sour voice of a child was shouting, 'Want, Want.'
ReplyDeleteA child wanted her? That was an unexpected STROKE of luck. She'd been sitting in the attic for so long she had forgotten what it was like to be played with and talked to. Ah...to have a real conversation again... What would she say first?
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ReplyDeleteBefore she could speak, she heard the clock chiming the STROKE of seven o'clock. The old man had Not Gladly tucked under his arm in an undignified upside-down position. From there, she could see a small girl with long, dark, ratty hair, and a high, ratty voice. When the girl saw Not Gladly, she scowled and frowned and stamped her foot.
ReplyDelete"THAT's not what I asked for. I don't want THAT ugly, scruffy, horrible thing."
Not Gladly was sure the STROKEs of her heart were echoing in the staircase. She would not go back to the attic, she would not! Head down and dangling off the old man's grasp, she managed to whisper to the angry brat: "Did you know that I can talk?"
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ReplyDeleteHearing the little bear's voice, the child blinked once. Then she blinked again. Then her mouth opened and deep in the recesses of her ratty throat a scream began to form.
ReplyDeleteBut before it could emerge, the old man saw what was about to issue forth and hurriedly thrust Not Gladly into the arms of the little girl.
"Here" he said, "Take her. Go on. She won't bite". Then he glared. "But if you don't behave yourself, *I'll* bite you! Stroke me down if I'm lying!!"
The child took no notice. She screamed and screamed and screamed. The old man decided not to carry out his threat - he was scared stiff of Social Services. Instead, he went through to the living room and grabbed a CD to drown out the noise of the girl's screams. In his haste he didn't notice he'd picked up one of his grandson's CDs, by The Strokes.
ReplyDeleteBack in the hall, the little girl saw that she wasn't to be indulged and gradually stopped screaming. She saw Not Gladly lying inert on the floor, and nervously bent down, hand shaking, wondering whether to pick up the little bear...
Not Gladly wondered what to do next. She didn't want to go back to the attic, but she didn't want anyone to scream at her either. All she wanted now was for her bare patches to be stroked; that always comforted her.
ReplyDeleteShe began to despair, and tears welled up.
When the child saw Not Gladly's wet eyes, interest stroke her. She'd never seen a bear that could cry before. That had to make up for her ragged looks. She picked up the small bear and declared: "You're the ugliest and weirdest bear I've ever seen."
ReplyDelete@19ish said:
ReplyDelete"You're almost as ugly as I am," the child whispered to Not Gladly. "Ever since Momma died, no one helps me stroke my hairbrush thru my long, dark hair anymore. Nobody cares about me. And now, Grampa says I have to go with him on a long trip somewhere. I'm really scared..."
Not Gladly decided it was time to speak again to the little girl - whose name was Wendy - but first plugged her little ears with foam against the reoccurrence of the dreadful screaming.
ReplyDelete"Look", she whispered, "I'm a talking bear. I've always been a talking bear. Now before you start screaming -" Not Gladly looked nervously at Wendy, but her mouth remained clamped shut - "I've something quite important to tell you. Are you sure you don't mind me talking?" She watched as Wendy stroked her fingers through her long hair, and wished it was her own bald patches being stroked. She sighed..
@19ish said...
ReplyDeleteWendy continued stroking her thick tresses, absentmindedly picking out the rat's nests of tangles along the lengths. After a bit, she replied a in small voice, "You are scaring me, but I want to know your secret. What is it?"
Then Not Gladly whispered to Wendy of long ago events, of being best friends with Wendy's Momma, when she was but a child. With wide eyes, Wendy begged to hear more. Just then, at the stroke of 8 PM, the door bell rang.
Wendy's Grampa limped toward the door, leaning on his cane. He'd had to rely rely on that darned thing ever since the terrible day of the stroke. The doctors told him he was fortunate it was minor, but what did they know — they didn't have to live with it every day.
ReplyDeleteAs he got to the door, the doorbell rang again. Irritated now, he unlocked the door and threw it open.