In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “The Transporter.”
There is no need to transport anything if The Transporter still sleeps on my bed. Who is The Transporter? The Transporter is a Winnie the Pooh with an orange fur coat that is slowly blackening with time. I can’t remember the last time I washed him, maybe a few years back.
It’s amazing how the Pooh, he, can be both my past and my present.
When I hold him at night and nudge his soft fur to lull me into sleep, I remember that this was how I had always held him through the years. Nothing has changed, and I hope nothing will ever change.
He transports me back to moments where I remember holding him tightly and sobbing in sadness. His orange fur holds much of my tears. But yet he also can transport me back to moments of happiness, where I remember shaking him wildly in ecstasy as his head bobbed crazily around.
He is a reminder of who I was, of how I was like as a kid. He can transport me back to the past each time my eyes are on him, or when I hold him and remember that familiar rough spot of knobbly fur.
He is also a transporter of who I am about to be. He is my emblem of courage. Each time I think about the future that is so horrifyingly unknown, he reminds me that even if I fall, he’s there with me.