Refurbished

She was just someone who liked to hang on to things.

Her mother had tried to talk her into throwing out all of the really old toys that she was never likely to play with again. However, despite now being in her late teens, she hadn’t wanted to throw anything out. As a consequence of this, a large wooden box, full of such things, had, for several years, been a permanent feature in the corner of her bedroom. It just so happened that this irksome topic had come up again, just before going to bed. On this occasion, although it did no more than cause a mild annoyance between them, it did make the teenager wonder whether her mother could be right. Climbing into bed, she thought about it. After all, being honest with herself, she would have a hard job remembering exactly what was in there.

Before she was able to get fully comfortable, something in her room sounded. It may be outside, she thought. That had happened before, with things blowing around in the garden. Concentrating on the noise, she wondered if it was coming from the toy box.

Getting out of bed, she went to it and listened. Almost immediately, she heard it again. Opening the lid, she peered in, waiting. There seemed to be movement coming from under all her old toys. It was just a soft rustling sound, but now it was accompanied by something stirring. As she began to take things out, she was quite impressed with how calm she was. Finally, she found something green and soft. It was wriggling. She lifted it out.

It was ‘Mopsy’, her old green rabbit. She had loved this soft toy when she was really young. She remembered how she would cuddle it in bed every night. Turning it around, she saw that it couldn’t be her old companion. She whispered to herself, “Of course, you can’t be him; you’re much too new.”

It squirmed a bit and said, “No, I’m not new at all.”

With hardly any surprise, she said, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, quite sure. I’ve been refurbished.

She frowned. “Refurbished?”

“Oh! That’s just a fancy way of saying drycleaned and blow-dried. You know, just for the occasion. For you, d’you see? But if you don’t like it…”

“No! That’s fine; you look good. I mean, really good.”

It was at this point that she stopped to think about what she was doing. Was she really chatting with a stuffed toy?

The answer came quickly, when her alarm sounded.

Slowly waking up, and remembering the night’s events, she looked across at the undisturbed toy box and began to giggle.

This stopped abruptly when getting out of bed she saw something soft and green tumble silently to the floor…