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I watched your child from the very day you gave me to her, when she could barely say a word, let alone express her joy when her arms wrapped around my gentle and soft body.
That was my happiest day.
I watched her grow, learn, cry and laugh. She told me her joys, her secrets… when she was sad. And that was when my resentment of you who gave me to her began. You who sent her with tears running freely and a reddened cheek to her room. What had you done, you monster?
She told me. Then added that you didn’t mean it. But it still hurt.
It was her thirteenth birthday, and I was sitting on her bed waiting to revel in the joyous stories of her party, to hear how the cake tasted, her friends laughed; when you came upstairs. You muttered under your breath. Something about too many toys and then I was scooped up into a box. That night, in silence, darkness, alone, I realised how replaceable I was to you.
I heard her cry for me. I heard you hit her again; and how the hatred swelled inside of me.
After she forgot about me, her sixteenth birthday passed, (I know, I counted the days) she opened the box to find me once more. A look of joyous nostalgia and warmth lit up her beautiful face. She took me to her room, told me of her life since I was incarcerated. How nice she was to a dusty old friend.
We stayed up late, talking, laughing, reminiscing.
I loved it.
But you wouldn’t let me have her back. The next day from downstairs came an uproar beyond all comprehension. I waited with bated breath, saw her flee to her room with a shining knife and you struggled with her for it. How could you? As you took the blade I could smell of booze coming off you stronger than salt off of the sea’s waves; and before I can say a word, you plunge the blade deep into her. There’s a stunned silence, she staggered backward, fell to the floor.
I watched her grow up. I watched her fall down. I hate you.
If I could only hurt you like you did her.
But I’m just a gifted teddy bear.