I’ve always had my plushie, I got it from my nan, she died a few days after giving it to me. My plushie is a panther plushie, I’ve always loved panthers!
My brother gets a lot of attention from my parents, and it makes me mad. Whenever he’s made me upset, after I go to bed I hear his screams. I don’t know what hurts him. I don’t like him being hurt, even if he is mean to me.
My parents blame me a lot for his harm, they claim that I’m the one doing it. I’m not! I try to stay awake and see what happens, but I fall asleep.
I woke up tonight though, it was really dark, and my brother was screaming. I watched through the crack of my door, I couldn’t see much, though I think it was my plushie. I saw it on the floor, and it had lots of blood on it’s paws. My brother hasn’t woken up, I hope he is alright.
When my parents woke up and saw my brother still in bed, they shrieked, I don’t understand why though, my brother is just asleep.
“It’s her damn plushies fault! It’s cursed, we should burn it!”
I heard my father say, I don’t think my plushie is cursed. It’s always been so helpful and comforting. Whenever I miss my grandmother, my plushie is there! It always protects me from my father’s harm.
“Sheila if we don’t get rid of that stupid plushie, we are all doomed! It’s cursed. You know it.”
My father says. I wish he wasn’t so loud. I started crying, and went to my room. I think I fell asleep, as it all went dark. When I woke up, I was all alone. My plushie was still near me though, I’m glad it’s here.
I noticed some blood on my plushies paws, I wonder what happened.
I don’t hear anyone’s voice.
I don’t hear anything.
I’m alone.
It’s quiet.
It’s peaceful.
I have my plushie.
I am happy.
I drift back into sleeps grasp, and my father’s screams are not heard. His screams boom through the halls, yet I am alone. I hear nothing. I am oblivious.
I wake up again. It’s dark again. I was asleep for a long time!
“Mama?” I call out. I want my mother, or my brother. Even if they are mean, I still love them.
No one answers me.
There’s something in my arms. I look down. My plushie is in my arms, last time it had some blood on it, now it’s covered in blood. I start crying, I miss my mother, brother and even my father.
Though my plushie is there for company. I hold it tight as I cry, I’m happy it’s there, but I want my parents. I want someone. Not something.
I’m all alone.
It’s quiet.
No one is here.
I am alone.
I want my parents.
But they aren’t here.
All I have is my soft plushie.