I saw him smiling at me from behind the towels in the cupboard. Had I forgotten he was there? The reality of what I had to do with him began to grow in my mind over the following days. The bonfire would be blazing, I could secretly shove him into the other cupboard we were going to burn. No-one else needed to know my plot. I thought it would be better for both of us. But would he prefer to be thrown back out into the desert where I first found him? He can't or won't talk to me anymore. The bigger cupboard has silenced him. I'm sorry about that.
This time, I can't stop myself from giving him a hug and a kiss before I say goodbye.
The darkness begins to descend and so the fire burns: the wood, the creepy Guy, some broken furniture. The cupboard is thrown on after serving its purpose as a table for some food. I watch it catch fire quickly and marvel at how hot it gets, hoping it's not hurting him too much.
Passing another table (not to burn), I see him still smiling up at me from a black bin bag. How can this be? Is he the Harry Houdini of the toy clown world? This makes it hard for me now. Some kind soul had obviously found him again just as I was about to lose him. Maybe he needed rescuing again? I have to act fast, so I grab him firmly by the hand, walk purposefully over to the blaze and chuck him in. He appears to do a few flamboyant somersaults before entering the flames.
The night continued with some music and singing. Constellations were clear up above and as I saw one bright, shooting star I was sure I heard him gently singing The Unforgettable Fire by U2. Or did I just wish for that?
Pause today to remember.
They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old;
age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun
and in the morning, we will remember them.
We will remember them.
From the poem For The Fallen
by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
This time, I can't stop myself from giving him a hug and a kiss before I say goodbye.
The darkness begins to descend and so the fire burns: the wood, the creepy Guy, some broken furniture. The cupboard is thrown on after serving its purpose as a table for some food. I watch it catch fire quickly and marvel at how hot it gets, hoping it's not hurting him too much.
Passing another table (not to burn), I see him still smiling up at me from a black bin bag. How can this be? Is he the Harry Houdini of the toy clown world? This makes it hard for me now. Some kind soul had obviously found him again just as I was about to lose him. Maybe he needed rescuing again? I have to act fast, so I grab him firmly by the hand, walk purposefully over to the blaze and chuck him in. He appears to do a few flamboyant somersaults before entering the flames.
The night continued with some music and singing. Constellations were clear up above and as I saw one bright, shooting star I was sure I heard him gently singing The Unforgettable Fire by U2. Or did I just wish for that?
Pause today to remember.
They shall grow not old,
as we that are left grow old;
age shall not weary them,
nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun
and in the morning, we will remember them.
We will remember them.
From the poem For The Fallen
by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)
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