It was safe to say that Mr and Mrs Dream weren't rich. In fact, they'd be lucky if they could afford the chewing gum on your shoe!

No one in the small village was rich. They only had enough money to scrape by. Living life by the skin on their teeth! Mr and Mrs. Dream owned a small shop, selling woollen clothing (hand knitted by Mrs. Dream) and Mr. Dream made furniture to sell. 

The shop was one room, with a table holding a small black box that contained all of the shops money; some wonky wooden pieces of furniture were randomly scattered and a brown chest contained all of Mrs. Dreams clothing. Nothing too dramatic but socks, jumpers etc. Anything that a village member needed, Mr and Mrs. Dream were the people to get it done.

Charlie Dream was now two years old. She had black hair cut short and she often wore dungarees with old boots and a red shirt that got passed down from her cousins.

She still had her grey eyes that had graced her face since birth. Despite being a dull colour, her eyes were something to get lost in as they were so mesmerising, almost a darker ice blue instead of grey.

I am the old small and worn teddy gifted to young Charlie when she was only a day old. I have seen Charlie's dad grow up and his dad before him, and his dad before him, and so on, till the first Dream was graced on earth. I was passed on to the first Dream by a young Hummingbird that had found me in a graveyard.

I can't remember much from then. How I looked or what I did. I wonder if I sat and watched the stars? Who placed me on the grave bed? It doesn't matter now, I am here to watch Charlie grow.

Charlie ran into the workshop from the bedroom and ran to the brown leather cased chest. She picked up the heavy lid and tried to lift it. It fell in slow motion as I watched her not one her hand. I fell forward in an attempt to stop Charlie from catching her hand under the lid. But, it was fruitless, as I landed in the hot fire and Charlie screamed with so much pain from her hand being trapped under the heavy lid.

I don't feel much, but I could feel the rapidly deteriorating fluff of my skin start to turn brown. It made me feel uncomfortable, the hot flames licking my fur. I wanted to writhe and leave this hot  orange mess, but how could I?  I'm just a bear, a teddy bear no less.

Mrs. Dream was the first to run into the scene and release Charlie's hand and pick up her toddler and whisper soft things until she settled. But Charlie would not settle, she never did, not without my soft warm hugs.

"Darling? Have you seen that bear?" she called to her spouse, I watched as she tried to look for me behind the chest, in the chest, behind the counter, every nook and cranny.

"On-top of the fireplace, Honey!" Mr. Dream yelled from the bedroom. 

It didn't matter, this was the end for me. My glass eyes were starting to darken, and everything became shady. The stitching on my ears quickly released my stuffing. Pain erupting from every stitch that burned. It was unbearable, no pun intended, as Charlie's yell became louder.

But soon it stopped. Peaceful.

I think the stuffing in my ears fell out, I felt too numb to notice. I am blind.

But if  this was the end, how can I still hear my thoughts?