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The Little Things


Pit-patter, pit-patter, pit-patter...

The November night went from tranquil and quiet to alive and loud. The small depressions of the ground made brown muddy poodles where fat toads and slimy frogs wearing nothing but big idiotic smiles pasted on their brownish green faces frolicked. Their orchestral croaks reverberated in the still cold air. “Croak-kokak-croak, kokak-kokak-croak...,” they sang. Even the lowly crickets joined in the symphony, assisting the vocals with their violin-esque legs. The thrumming of their limbs gave more passion to the already absorbent air.

From a white house not far away, Rowena thought that such music was one hell of a racket. She twisted and turned on her bed, hands on her pillow while covering her ears with it in the process. Finally, she surrendered and admitted defeat. She wearily opened her eyes. She yawned as she sat up on her bed. It was dark in her room save for the moonlight that shone through the translucent mosaic window of her bedroom. Her hands fumbled for the lamp switch, making a loud clatter that made her worry of upsetting her mother then getting scolded because of it, until she felt the stub of the switch and pushed it upwards. A slight click afforded her the shine of the bedside lamp so bright that it stung her eyes. She shied away from the light and rubbed her hurt eyes. As her eyes adjusted to the glare she looked around her room. Toys of different sizes and shapes were scattered everywhere like in a department store resembling a clutter. Her neon wall clock glowed at eleven p.m., way past her curfew.

The cold northerly wind forcefully opened and casually entered Rowena’s bedroom window which sent her into a case of the shivers. She wrapped herself in her blanket a little tighter and suddenly sensed that something was out of place. “Where’s Mr. Snuffles?” she asked concerned. She stood up on the mattress, its springs creaking under the sudden shift in position. She scanned the room and having been satisfied that Mr. Snuffles was nowhere around in her point of view, she lay down belly-up on her bed then pulled upwards the frills of her sheets that covered the bed’s underside. She then squinted her eyes to see beyond the darkness and having found nothing continued her search. Maybe it’s on the other side, she mused. She twisted her way to the opposite side and having found nothing, gave up. As her head plopped on the pillow she gave a stifled cry. Rubbing the back of her head in pain, she twisted her body to find Mr. Snuffles under her. Mr. Snuffles was actually a torn-up stuffed teddy bear with a dilapidated ear and one missing eye. Its button nose, which was the reason for Rowena’s throbbing head, was matte black with scratch marks all over.

“Ow”, she cried, “Mr. Snuffles you’re a meanie you know that?” The teddy just sat there silently watching her with its single amber eye and its mouth that conveyed either contempt or sadness. Suddenly, her bedroom door opened and in went her mother, red-eyed from crying and mad with unsuppressed rage, and frankly told her to shut the hell up; after which she slammed the door with an ear-splitting thud. She sat on the bed wistfully with her eyes locked on Mr. Snuffles, who innocently enough tumbled sideways in an unintentional attempt to mock Rowena. She interpreted it as such and immediately got mad at it. “Oooh, you-you whatever! Look what you’ve done, gone and made me shout. Now Mama’s mad at me and Dad’s never going back because of you! It’s your fault; your fault!” she said wide-eyed, searching for words that could never be said in front of a teddy bear. She pushed Mr. Snuffles out of the bed and insensitively let her favourite fall headfirst upon the cold wooden floor. As soon as she heard the soft thud of cotton on wood, she turned around and closed her eyes to sleep trying to blot out terrible memories from her mind: her dad retrieving Mr. Snuffles from the edge of the rooftop; him plummeting ten feet from a ladder with the bear under his arm; her mother babbling and shouting incoherently while covering Rowena’s eyes; Rowena, herself crying and wondering whatever was going on.

“You’re my honey bun sugar plum, pumty-umpty-umpkin, you’re my sweetie pie...” She stifled a sob. It was the music of death. The lyrics that rang out from Mr. Snuffles supplied her with anger welled-up from inside and right then and there she wanted to rip the stuffed toy into two. “You’re my cuppy-cake gumdrop...” But instead of shredding the cheerful smile off Mr. Snuffles’ pathetic excuse for a face, she picked him up and hugged him tight. At that she cried; after that, she cried some more. She was only an innocent girl with troubled thoughts and with the simplicity of a burnt match she wanted all the stress in her life to go away like smoke.

“Because you are so dear” The music died down and the rainstorm turned into a slight drizzle. The frogs and crickets went home to sleep, and the only sounds to be heard for the rest of the night was the sobbing of a ten year old girl who had lost nearly everything dear to her life.