Comfort Meets Style

"Still smells like strawberries," the little girl mumbled, pressing her nose against the bear's faded green fur. She dropped him onto the dusty floorboards beside her bed.

Outside the window, sunlight caught the shimmering plastic mane of a brand-new stuffed animal perched proudly on the swing set. The girl skipped out, leaving the old bear slumped against the wall. He watched through one smudged glass button eye as she hugged the shiny newcomer, its rainbow belly badge gleaming like a trophy. Something sharp and hot twisted in his lumpy stuffing. He hadn't smelled like strawberries in weeks.

He remembered the soft red felt heart he’d worn, faded almost to pink. It felt like a lie now. From a discarded sewing kit spilled near the baseboard, he pulled a needle and thread . Then slowly, he stitched two thick, two letters onto his belly: **T D** for Tattered Dimension. The name felt heavy, final. From here forth, I am Junkyard Bear. It suited him for he was born from the dust motes dancing in the air around him.