Lungdust: a brief fictional piece

In the land of broken toys there was once a most unusual stuffed toy kitty.

His name was Lungdust and he was the most fiercest, trickiest raggedy cloth cat that you could ever imagine.

He wasn’t much to look at. His mohair fur had once been mauve but. thanks to many years of love and many more years of neglect, his colouring had darkened to the hue of old bruises or a raven’s wing. One ear was missing. His wire whiskers were lopsided. but his orange glass eyes still shone as bright as the day he was first made.
As with all the broken toys, Lungdust had been kept alive by the love that his owner had showered upon him in the real world. This love fizzed inside his stuffing like veins of cherry cola, bouncing inside him and ultimately serving as a soul. At night, it kept him warm and poisoned his dreams with memories of happier times.
Of his prior existence, Lungdust had been just a mute spectator of his master’s love, a non-participant of a child’s butterfly-minded whim. He had been huggled at night and played with at day. He knew the secrets that only a young boy could ever find important, he had seen the joys of innocence and the sadness of his owner outgrowing the need for childish things. He still remembered the long days and weeks and months and years of being placed upon a high shelf at the back of the closet and then the interminable time in the grisly-grim spider haunted attic.
Of course, not being aware, he was not mindful of being left behind. All places were the same to him until one day, many years later, when he awoke for the first time.
As his consciousness became self-aware, Lungdust’s first thought was that his impossible sentience was due to the fact that his master had died. Or at least that is what he claimed when others asked him. Being a cat, albeit a raggedy cloth cat, his first instinct was to tell lies. In truth, it took him hours to string his first thought together which was “Why?” But given no answers to this rather unlikely cosmic act of cause-and-effect, he quickly shrugged off his question, held his thrice-crooked tail high and sauntered away from the attic to the land of broken toys.
Advertisements

About greebohobbes

All-round irritant, expert swordsman (loves lopping off the heads of ghouls), professional charlatan and outrageous wearer of black cocktail dresses...
This entry was posted in fiction, humour, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s