A pot of honey, no satisfaction. Tummy rumbly, not hungry. Morning sun remains hidden, blues have become browns and grays and blacks. Muted. A single ray of light finds him through a break in the clouds. Caught in heavens spotlight. Always at the center. The others spin in his orbit, dance around him. Their stories resonate with more.
People are drawn to the tale of the single mother and her child. Want to watch as they grow, the little one hops through life finding joy in every bounce. Readers sympathize with the tender klutz, forever stumbling in word and action. They find levity in the antics of the ever-happy feline, and wish to hold the sad loner that loses his tail. They can’t help but sigh when the cantankerous rabbit whines about something new.
But his story, what of it? Who cares? His only concern to find another pot of honey? Is that it? And why would anyone want to pay attention to that. He’s stuck behind a wall and wishes for more. More complexity, more excitement. Legs too short to push the gas pedal any farther down, but knowing it could be done if not for a twist of fate.
Too simple to learn more, but aware there is more—so much more. Trapped in a cell, but unable to reach the key. It’s right there, he can see it. Even touch it some days. His stuffy paws brush the answer to his simple life. Oh bother, there it goes, slipping away again.
At least there’s honey. Mouth covered, stomach stuffed, but the bear is still empty.