A Little Story
#1 of Boojum's Stories
A Little Story
by boojum the brown bunny
The old bunny leans back in the comfortable chair in which he sits, swiveling it to peer out into the night skies. He removes the large glasses that perch atop his blunt muzzle to rub his weary eyes. Another day has passed in his life.
The glasses dangle loosely in his fingertips as he turns his weak eyes back to the sky, the brown orbs no longer clear of sight. He smiles wearily up at the night, to the old friends who watch down on the sleeping warren, then finally he turns back to the table.
A fresh sheet of parchment is pulled from a desk drawer, the scent of the square crisp and clean. He recovers a quill and ink well from another drawer and thinks for a few moments before putting ink to paper.
When I was young I was told of the marvels in the sky. Orion the hunter, the big dipper and the Bear. The stories told long ago sparking my imagination and guiding my eyes to the night sky. Time after time I would sit upon the grassy knoll and stare for hours into the sky... and not once did I see Orion.
As I grew older I became busy with other things, forgetting my friends in the night sky. The study of magic drew me into its embrace and into tiny rooms without windows. Tome after musty tome passed before these tired eyes, each taking its toll on my vision. My life became full, I wed, I sired children to be raised by my wife and myself.
Before the fire I would tell our children stories of the night sky, of Orion the hunter, of the Swan. Late at night sometimes they would go out and watch the stars quietly, going to bed late.
Time passed and my eyes grew weaker. My son bought me a pair of glasses so that I could see and my life went on... and on. Our children moved away, one at a time, until we were alone together.
Then I lost you.
Still my life went on, hollow and lonely. The books I once read with care gather dust upon the shelves. The house is quiet around me and nothing stirs.
Then one day, unable to live with the quiet, I left our home and walked out to the Grassy knoll. I sat in the green grass and cried because there was no one to share my days with. No cheerful voice greeting me in the morning, no warm love to cuddle with late at night.
My glasses lay in my lap as I wept, the night slowly coaxing a calm, and I turned my weak eyes to the stars for the first time in so many years.
And Orion smiled.
My vision had dimmed over the years and in the blurry cloud of light that washed across the sky I could finally see the legends I was told so very long ago. The swan's neck arched gracefully, its wings shifting. Orion stood upon braced legs.
Now our Grandchildren come to sit before the fire and I tell them stories, both old and new. My nights are full as I watch legends contend against an ebon backdrop, my fertile imagination filling in what happens.
I realize now that, as a child, my imagination was not lacking. I simply saw too clearly. I saw what was not what could be.
Your Loving Husband
Slowly, hands trembling slightly, the old rabbit folds the sheet of parchment. He places it within a small envelope and seals it shut with a few drops of red wax, pressing his ring against the hardening blob.
He opens yet another drawer and pulls out a bundle of envelopes bound with a blue ribbon and adds this letter to the others. Carefully he re-ties the bundle, gives them a kiss, and then places them back within the safety of the drawer.