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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
2000–8000
Coming Home
The entry bell tinkles, a bright, happy ring echoing through the humble shop I call home. The sunlight filters in through the windows, a warmth baking over my worn form. My stitches, lovingly sewn, line my sides as they always have. My mismatched button eyes portray a goofy look that only a mother could love.
Love… I want to be loved…
For countless days, I have sat upon these dusty shelves, watching, waiting, for her: the one who is destined to call me her own. The filly who will cradle me in her arms, pour her troubles into my pain-absorbent fabrics, and hold me closer than she holds her own heart. I will guard and guide her, keep her safe, and love her, no matter the troubles I may face. I look forward to that moment each and every passing day…
In the hopes that I too, may be loved.
I am but a humble menagerie of love and dedication, with a hefty helping of ‘Grandma’s touch’. My buttons are worn and smooth, my stitches tight and appealing, and my smile infectious in its simplicity. For many a day, I await her presence, the one whose warmth will also be mine to share, and whose embrace will fulfill my destiny.
I await the foal who has inexplicably trotted directly into the store, the entry bell dingling as it sways with the gentle outside breeze. Outside…
A colt walks through: short, stubby, his hooves dirtied with the mud of a long day’s play. My fabric sags as I realize he will not be coming for the likes of me. I watch, forlorn, as he trots across the shop—passing me by like a cool summer breeze, before reaching out for a new ball-and-bat set. As he leaves, purchase in tow, I am filled with the sadness of knowing another night will pass by without my hooves in a caring embrace.
As the lights to the shop dim, casting the room into darkness, I see the stars twinkling in the twilit sky. I look about me, at the dwindling shelves, the bare spaces marking toys’ presences no longer needed, having been fulfilled and loved. My gaze washes over a scant few toys, many of them broken by inquisitive youngsters, or by accidental use. The poor things won’t be given so much as a second glance—and yet, they’ve gotten more love than me.
The door shuts with a creak, the wooden barrier separating me from the loving grasp of my destiny as my Creator takes his leave. I sigh, resigned to another night upon these shelves, awaiting my destined one. My heart forever aches to be with her.
I have no doubt she feels the same.
The sunlight is almost blinding as it burns through the curtains, warming my stitches and filling my stuffing with hope. I have a good feeling about today. As the morning crowd begins to form around the windows outside, a small flash of purple crosses my vision. My polyester heart flutters. I see her face: her cute bangs as they fall over her face, her stubby horn peeking out from the dark fibers atop her head, her smile boring a hole right into my body.
I feel a warmth fill me like never before. In a brief flash of a second, she is gone—naught but a wisp of a memory now, her infectious wonder and happiness filling me with satisfaction even as her form is lost to the numerous crowds shuffling by.
The bell tingles—my Creator stumbling in. He is dirtied, and has redness in his eyes. He hunches over and squirms at the slightest noise. He drinks his blackness drink, the rich aroma filling the shop with its homely scent. I would shrivel my nose, if only for the acrid concentration of the scent up here, but I can only sigh.
My Creator has done this for weeks now. He has oft mentioned the word ‘hangover,’ and I fear for him. His creations show less and less love, and their lonely shapes sit upon the dusty shelves, awaiting the child who will never buy them to come and fulfill their hopeless dreams…
I shiver and wonder if my dreams are also as hopeless…
The door creaks open, admitting the first customer to our shop. He glances around, mouth moving a mile a minute, the veins atop my Creator’s head throbbing in time with each syllable. I can see the anger in his heart as he resists the urge to expel the kid from this place. The child’s parents come to his immediate aid, bringing a wash of relief over the room. I can see my Creator visibly deflate as the mother passes him a couple blue tablets. They look like candies, but I’ve only ever seen my Creator take one at a time.
He takes both.
As the parents usher the young colt toward the exit, his eyes fall on me. The glimmer of hope shines in them, the idea of coming out of this ordeal with a toy has taken his mind and enraptured him with the thought. He has latched onto the first toy he saw—and it was me. He tugs and yanks at their strong limbs, reaching out for me. His parents stop, turning to gaze at my worn body, atop the third shelf from the left, where I have sat my entire existence, awaiting the moment a child would pluck me from my perch and give me a new home within their heart.
My Creator smiles, grabs his extending hook, and stretches it out to me. I can feel the anticipation burning, the excitement welling up in my spine as the hook draws nearer and nearer, passing directly over my sight. I brace myself, preparing to weigh nothing, when I feel a slight brush against my backside.
A cold wave of regret washes over me as a teddy bear passes into view, held fast by the hook. I am not the young colt’s selection—I was not the target of his love, his adoration, his sudden need for a toy—it was the one behind me. The teddy is bagged and passed into the smiling colt’s hooves, while his parents make to extricate themselves from the dusty shop. They disappear from sight as the door closes with finality and a dull ring.
Sunset approaches. As the orb of light glazes orange, the sky recreates the waves of warmth I felt when she gazed upon me. The crowds walking past begin to dwindle as the day comes to a close. I hear my Creator rise and begin closing shop. As the lights begin to shut off, the door creaks open, and the bell tingles a few sweet saccharine rings into my patched ears. A soft pitter-patter of hooves fills the shop, and my Creator perks his ears, turning in the direction of the intruder. His wary look turns to one of delight as my train of thought derails, awash in a flood of love.
A small filly stands before the numerous shelves, a look of absolute adoration and appeal, love and wonder taking her features at a standstill. She gapes, her bright teeth filling my sight with warmth. A tingle rushes down my stitched spine. I know, in my fluffed heart, that she is the one. Her hair bobs and weaves as she whips her inquisitive little head about, swaying back and forth as she noticed more toys surrounding her. I felt a pang of empathy; she must have been deprived of our services, our duty, and her amazement shows no evidence to the contrary.
Her parents filter in behind her, glancing left and right for their little bullet of wonder.
“Twilight? Where are you, sweetie?”
Twilight…
My mind fills with images of the night sky, the swirls of the cosmos filling the expanse as the dying hues of the blazing sunset fade from view. It is a beautiful name for a beautiful filly, and I feel my stuffing swell with hope. She carries in her magic a solitary book. A glance to my side reveals my notebook and pencil, with which I can connect with her and form a bond stronger than family. I will form friendship.
She gazes about the room, her bright eyes digging, scouring the shelves for something. Her analyzing gaze draws near to me, and I feel as though butterflies have taken residence in my chest. She spots my worn edges, my loving stitches, and—of course—my accompanying stationery. A squeal of delight fills the room, a happy, bubbly voice erupting from the filly that I know will be my Best Friend. She gushes and awes over my fabrics, my limbs flailing about in the wind as she shows me to her family, presenting my notebook with a beaming smile.
I am in absolute bliss.
Waves of joy flow through me, filling me with a greater warmth than a day of the summer sun as she hugs me close, filling my fibers with her scent. She looks me over, searching for something, something that eludes me until I hear those fateful words: the words I had forgotten, put out of my mind, because I believed I’d never need hear them again.
She speaks like an angel’s song, and the heavenly chorus sings my name with the love that I have missed for all of these long days and nights. It fills me with purpose and gives me new hope.
“Smarty Pants.” A slight pause. “You’re just like me! We can study together, and read, and I can show you the Princess’ library! Eeee!”
My world shakes and rattles as she leaps about the store calling my name, delight in her step and happiness on her smile. Her parents glance at each other, a worried look taking them slowly, creeping across their features like a solar eclipse. Their smiles turn to sudden frowns, and they huddle close to their daughter. She ceases her leaping—my vision steadying for a moment—before I am lifted from her grasp and placed mercilessly upon my perch, the warmth leaking out of me and into the darkened wood. I sag, my ears drooping as my hooves fall to my sides in defeat; I will not see my destiny fulfilled.
Tears well in her eyes as she reaches for me with her magic. The lavender aura tugs at my limbs while my Creator’s pulls back, keeping my body in its tug-of-war between the two souls who would love me. Her parents usher her out, amidst her wailing cries for me, and her struggling hooves. No matter how many tears stream down the poor filly’s face, her parents continue onward.
My Creator just stares after them, heartbreak in his eyes. He slumps, before looking at me with a weary gaze. Countless closing times have graced me with their ceremony and sadness.
I can tell, as my Creator bundles my stationery and my tear-soaked limbs into a box, that they shall plague me no more.
My world is thrown into darkness, the top of the box sealing me away from these shelves I have called my home for years. I think back to the day I was created, made to sit upon the first shelf ready for purchase. Countless days with my Creator, awaiting the day I would become complete, and I would find my other half.
The half with a heart.
As the box shifted and moved, I heard the faint tingle of that fateful bell ringing through my fabric ears. A bristle of excitement dripped down my stitched spine, filling my hooves with the same warmth I felt in her embrace. I hear her cries pick up in volume as my Creator draws near. I hear his muffled cry—“Wait! Wait, young child!”—and I hear the pain in his heart. He does not want my time to be up, and yet he is happy—happy to see my purpose fulfilled.
Her sobs come to a wracking halt, her shuddering breaths permeating the atmosphere. “Y...yes?” Her voice cracks on the last syllable; I can tell her tears are still flowing.
“You forgot something, young miss.”
My box shifts as I feel a softer, lighter set of hooves take my weight into their grasp. I bubble with joy and anticipation. I can feel it in every fiber and stitch. I have been waiting my entire life for this one moment, and as I see the slivers of the fading sunset peeking through the box, accented by lavender and a blinding smile, I know that I am ready.
I am ready to come home, Twilight.
Love… I want to be loved…
For countless days, I have sat upon these dusty shelves, watching, waiting, for her: the one who is destined to call me her own. The filly who will cradle me in her arms, pour her troubles into my pain-absorbent fabrics, and hold me closer than she holds her own heart. I will guard and guide her, keep her safe, and love her, no matter the troubles I may face. I look forward to that moment each and every passing day…
In the hopes that I too, may be loved.
I am but a humble menagerie of love and dedication, with a hefty helping of ‘Grandma’s touch’. My buttons are worn and smooth, my stitches tight and appealing, and my smile infectious in its simplicity. For many a day, I await her presence, the one whose warmth will also be mine to share, and whose embrace will fulfill my destiny.
I await the foal who has inexplicably trotted directly into the store, the entry bell dingling as it sways with the gentle outside breeze. Outside…
A colt walks through: short, stubby, his hooves dirtied with the mud of a long day’s play. My fabric sags as I realize he will not be coming for the likes of me. I watch, forlorn, as he trots across the shop—passing me by like a cool summer breeze, before reaching out for a new ball-and-bat set. As he leaves, purchase in tow, I am filled with the sadness of knowing another night will pass by without my hooves in a caring embrace.
As the lights to the shop dim, casting the room into darkness, I see the stars twinkling in the twilit sky. I look about me, at the dwindling shelves, the bare spaces marking toys’ presences no longer needed, having been fulfilled and loved. My gaze washes over a scant few toys, many of them broken by inquisitive youngsters, or by accidental use. The poor things won’t be given so much as a second glance—and yet, they’ve gotten more love than me.
The door shuts with a creak, the wooden barrier separating me from the loving grasp of my destiny as my Creator takes his leave. I sigh, resigned to another night upon these shelves, awaiting my destined one. My heart forever aches to be with her.
I have no doubt she feels the same.
The sunlight is almost blinding as it burns through the curtains, warming my stitches and filling my stuffing with hope. I have a good feeling about today. As the morning crowd begins to form around the windows outside, a small flash of purple crosses my vision. My polyester heart flutters. I see her face: her cute bangs as they fall over her face, her stubby horn peeking out from the dark fibers atop her head, her smile boring a hole right into my body.
I feel a warmth fill me like never before. In a brief flash of a second, she is gone—naught but a wisp of a memory now, her infectious wonder and happiness filling me with satisfaction even as her form is lost to the numerous crowds shuffling by.
The bell tingles—my Creator stumbling in. He is dirtied, and has redness in his eyes. He hunches over and squirms at the slightest noise. He drinks his blackness drink, the rich aroma filling the shop with its homely scent. I would shrivel my nose, if only for the acrid concentration of the scent up here, but I can only sigh.
My Creator has done this for weeks now. He has oft mentioned the word ‘hangover,’ and I fear for him. His creations show less and less love, and their lonely shapes sit upon the dusty shelves, awaiting the child who will never buy them to come and fulfill their hopeless dreams…
I shiver and wonder if my dreams are also as hopeless…
The door creaks open, admitting the first customer to our shop. He glances around, mouth moving a mile a minute, the veins atop my Creator’s head throbbing in time with each syllable. I can see the anger in his heart as he resists the urge to expel the kid from this place. The child’s parents come to his immediate aid, bringing a wash of relief over the room. I can see my Creator visibly deflate as the mother passes him a couple blue tablets. They look like candies, but I’ve only ever seen my Creator take one at a time.
He takes both.
As the parents usher the young colt toward the exit, his eyes fall on me. The glimmer of hope shines in them, the idea of coming out of this ordeal with a toy has taken his mind and enraptured him with the thought. He has latched onto the first toy he saw—and it was me. He tugs and yanks at their strong limbs, reaching out for me. His parents stop, turning to gaze at my worn body, atop the third shelf from the left, where I have sat my entire existence, awaiting the moment a child would pluck me from my perch and give me a new home within their heart.
My Creator smiles, grabs his extending hook, and stretches it out to me. I can feel the anticipation burning, the excitement welling up in my spine as the hook draws nearer and nearer, passing directly over my sight. I brace myself, preparing to weigh nothing, when I feel a slight brush against my backside.
A cold wave of regret washes over me as a teddy bear passes into view, held fast by the hook. I am not the young colt’s selection—I was not the target of his love, his adoration, his sudden need for a toy—it was the one behind me. The teddy is bagged and passed into the smiling colt’s hooves, while his parents make to extricate themselves from the dusty shop. They disappear from sight as the door closes with finality and a dull ring.
Sunset approaches. As the orb of light glazes orange, the sky recreates the waves of warmth I felt when she gazed upon me. The crowds walking past begin to dwindle as the day comes to a close. I hear my Creator rise and begin closing shop. As the lights begin to shut off, the door creaks open, and the bell tingles a few sweet saccharine rings into my patched ears. A soft pitter-patter of hooves fills the shop, and my Creator perks his ears, turning in the direction of the intruder. His wary look turns to one of delight as my train of thought derails, awash in a flood of love.
A small filly stands before the numerous shelves, a look of absolute adoration and appeal, love and wonder taking her features at a standstill. She gapes, her bright teeth filling my sight with warmth. A tingle rushes down my stitched spine. I know, in my fluffed heart, that she is the one. Her hair bobs and weaves as she whips her inquisitive little head about, swaying back and forth as she noticed more toys surrounding her. I felt a pang of empathy; she must have been deprived of our services, our duty, and her amazement shows no evidence to the contrary.
Her parents filter in behind her, glancing left and right for their little bullet of wonder.
“Twilight? Where are you, sweetie?”
Twilight…
My mind fills with images of the night sky, the swirls of the cosmos filling the expanse as the dying hues of the blazing sunset fade from view. It is a beautiful name for a beautiful filly, and I feel my stuffing swell with hope. She carries in her magic a solitary book. A glance to my side reveals my notebook and pencil, with which I can connect with her and form a bond stronger than family. I will form friendship.
She gazes about the room, her bright eyes digging, scouring the shelves for something. Her analyzing gaze draws near to me, and I feel as though butterflies have taken residence in my chest. She spots my worn edges, my loving stitches, and—of course—my accompanying stationery. A squeal of delight fills the room, a happy, bubbly voice erupting from the filly that I know will be my Best Friend. She gushes and awes over my fabrics, my limbs flailing about in the wind as she shows me to her family, presenting my notebook with a beaming smile.
I am in absolute bliss.
Waves of joy flow through me, filling me with a greater warmth than a day of the summer sun as she hugs me close, filling my fibers with her scent. She looks me over, searching for something, something that eludes me until I hear those fateful words: the words I had forgotten, put out of my mind, because I believed I’d never need hear them again.
She speaks like an angel’s song, and the heavenly chorus sings my name with the love that I have missed for all of these long days and nights. It fills me with purpose and gives me new hope.
“Smarty Pants.” A slight pause. “You’re just like me! We can study together, and read, and I can show you the Princess’ library! Eeee!”
My world shakes and rattles as she leaps about the store calling my name, delight in her step and happiness on her smile. Her parents glance at each other, a worried look taking them slowly, creeping across their features like a solar eclipse. Their smiles turn to sudden frowns, and they huddle close to their daughter. She ceases her leaping—my vision steadying for a moment—before I am lifted from her grasp and placed mercilessly upon my perch, the warmth leaking out of me and into the darkened wood. I sag, my ears drooping as my hooves fall to my sides in defeat; I will not see my destiny fulfilled.
Tears well in her eyes as she reaches for me with her magic. The lavender aura tugs at my limbs while my Creator’s pulls back, keeping my body in its tug-of-war between the two souls who would love me. Her parents usher her out, amidst her wailing cries for me, and her struggling hooves. No matter how many tears stream down the poor filly’s face, her parents continue onward.
My Creator just stares after them, heartbreak in his eyes. He slumps, before looking at me with a weary gaze. Countless closing times have graced me with their ceremony and sadness.
I can tell, as my Creator bundles my stationery and my tear-soaked limbs into a box, that they shall plague me no more.
My world is thrown into darkness, the top of the box sealing me away from these shelves I have called my home for years. I think back to the day I was created, made to sit upon the first shelf ready for purchase. Countless days with my Creator, awaiting the day I would become complete, and I would find my other half.
The half with a heart.
As the box shifted and moved, I heard the faint tingle of that fateful bell ringing through my fabric ears. A bristle of excitement dripped down my stitched spine, filling my hooves with the same warmth I felt in her embrace. I hear her cries pick up in volume as my Creator draws near. I hear his muffled cry—“Wait! Wait, young child!”—and I hear the pain in his heart. He does not want my time to be up, and yet he is happy—happy to see my purpose fulfilled.
Her sobs come to a wracking halt, her shuddering breaths permeating the atmosphere. “Y...yes?” Her voice cracks on the last syllable; I can tell her tears are still flowing.
“You forgot something, young miss.”
My box shifts as I feel a softer, lighter set of hooves take my weight into their grasp. I bubble with joy and anticipation. I can feel it in every fiber and stitch. I have been waiting my entire life for this one moment, and as I see the slivers of the fading sunset peeking through the box, accented by lavender and a blinding smile, I know that I am ready.
I am ready to come home, Twilight.