PinkBear was a nice, powdery pink little teddy. Her nose was the cutest shade of brown, her eyes were nice and shiny, and she was all fluffy and warm. I loved the little one; as a child, her name was Pinky. ((Actually, I happened to name everything that fell under the category "light red" Pinky. But that's normal for a two year old.)) Pinky lived as a pampered bear should - I dragged her all over the place, made her talk, hugged and strangled her with love, and even slept with her. My mind, which was still underdeveloped and young, never could have predicted what would have happened.
It was murder! Pinky's whole helpless self was thrown viciously into a bathtub of warm, bubbly water while I watched in horror. She had sunk down to the bottom by the time the authorities(my mom) had come, Pinky was in critical condition. After that, the hospital(my mom) took her away. I didn't see Pinky again for two whole hours. Tragic. Just tragic.
Since then, I got bored of Pinky. I grew older and found that friends were a lot cooler than stuffed bears, and that they were better pretenders anyway. I eventually renamed Pinky with the not-so-different PinkBear, and I turned her into a guy because she's not even pink anymore. Now he's on my profile. Who would have known?
=] Happy Thanksgiving.
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aqueous transmissions
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i get sleazy for weasley (;
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