I'd apologise for the long delay, but we both know that's not going to stop me from doing it again, so... You know, here I am! And with a treat (I think). So quick backstory: basically, my partner wanted a stuffed elephant, but she said that when I gave it to her she wanted it to have a story. Being me, I took that as a challenge, so I got her the stuffed elephant (her favourite animal) as well as a stuffed tiger (my favourite animal) and a dream journal (with a nice little message I won't post here -- in part because it's personal and in part because it's written in the book, and I don't remember exactly what it said anymore). Note that the end of the story is a bit... esoteric. I promise it makes sense.
Anyway, here's Wonderwall.
...
Just kidding. Enjoy the story!
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It was a quiet thing, this night. A soft quiet; a warm quiet; a quiet characterised by all manner of creature snuggled away in beds far from the chaos and danger of the dark wood. For many, the night was a thing to be feared, and so a kind blanket and a clever book were a welcome distraction.
Fuddlewump was one such creature. An elephant she was, with trunk, perhaps, a bit too short for her liking. Her rump was plump and round; her skin thick and dark; her ears large and floppy, as ears tend to be. It was on this soft, warm night that Fuddlewump the elephant lay in her soft, warm bed of moss covered by her large, floppy ears and tried desperately to dream. Dreams were sacred things to Fuddlewump. They were an escape from her sad and lonely reality, and they allowed her to be whatever she wanted to be. Not like she was, that is. Anything but that. No, in her dreams she was a graceful gazelle, bounding happily through endless plains. In her dreams she was a majestic eagle, her wings taking her higher and higher through the mountain skies. In her dreams she was a sly fox, darting from hole to hole faster than any hunter could catch her.
In her dreams, she was loved. In her dreams, she was special.
Not like reality at all.
And so she slept, tossing and turning as the dreams refused to find her. The moss was too lumpy. The night was too cold. The moon was too bright. Not at all a night for dreams. But she had to dream, and so she tried and tried and tried.
Above, hiding in the darkness of the leaves, was another creature, though this one was very different. Argos. A tiger he was, with sleek fur and shining claws. Like all cats, Argos was a curious thing, and so his piercing eyes cast the tumultuous slumber of Fuddlewump a discerning gaze. It would be nothing for him to put an end to the elephant: he could eat like a king for the rest of the month, and it would be over in a second. Still, Argos waited and watched, drawing ever silently closer.
When the light of day finally banished the dark, scary night and Fuddlewump woke from her fitful slumber with a resounding yawn, Argos was mere feet away, calmly and coyly regarding his potential prey. As Fuddlewump wiped the sleep from her dreary eyes and the world came to focus around her, the swatch of orange before her seemed almost too much to process. It took many more blinks that she might have thought to realise just what her predicament was, and when finally the predatory visage became clear in her sight a wave of panic instantly washed over her. Her terrified scream trumpeted through the forest.
Argos simply smiled, the mighty tiger not deterred by the elephant’s roar and after the long, resonating blast from the elephant’s trunk quiet once again returned to the forest. It seemed that all was silent save for the anxious breathing of Fuddlewump and the calm countenance of Argos (which to Fuddlewump seemed the loudest thing of them all). The tiger’s grin remained, and after they both had sufficient time to digest the tranquility of the scene he simply asked:
“Are you finished?”
Fuddlewump, shocked and befuddled, could only nod. She tried to slow her gasps to no avail. It was fear that kept her restless, though her foe made no move to strike. After living in that stress for far too long, she could only swallow and release a few soft words to the air: “Are you going to eat me?”
Argos thought for a moment, then shook his furry head. “No,” he said, as he stood with a feline stretch. “You’re far too loud to eat. It wouldn’t do at all. No, I think I’ll simply wait. When you are less loud, and when I am ready, then I’ll eat you.” He could see the elephant wanted to protest, but looking at his sharp fangs, she could only shrink back and be grateful that she hadn’t been eaten already. He broke the silence with a question of his own: “What’s your name, elephant?”
Fuddlewump thought hard about her response. She didn’t like her name, and she was certain that if he knew he might just eat her out of spite. “My name is Ellie,” she lied.
Argos circled around her then, his discerning eyes discerning that not all was as it seemed. He looked Fuddlewump up and down, side to side, over and under, and in the end sighed. “That’s interesting,” he said. “You don’t look like a Ellie. I do, however, look like an Argos, for that is what I am. Go on then, elephant. Go about your noisy business. I’ll just follow.”
Fuddlewump frowned, but in the end all she could do was relent, for Argos was very strong, and she was very timid. “Perhaps I am too loud,” she thought, remembering her roar from just moments ago. “Maybe I’m just too noisy for friends.”
And so she went about her day as only an anxious, too-loud elephant could: she stepped carefully though the forest, trying not to rustle the trees and cringing each time she heard the low thud of her massive feet; she considered rolling in the mud to cool off but feared that the splashing would be too disruptive; she ate fruits she found along the way, but avoided the juiciest ones in case she let her excitement get the best of her. It was a long, careful day, and ever present was Argos, watching and listening with a knowing grin.
When finally Fuddlewump returned to her soft, warm bed of moss, the tiger was still with her. Worried, she asked him: “Now what?”
“Now,” said Argos, “we sleep. Perhaps I will eat you in the morning.”
As he disappeared into the trees, Fuddlewump was not at all assured, and so she struggled to fall into a fitful sleep. Was she still too loud for friends? Was she going to get eaten tomorrow? Would anyone care if she did? Plagued by her apprehensions, she once again struggled to dream. For dreams were sacred things, and easily frightened. Only darkness kept her company that night; a sheer cover pulled over her head to provide a hollow promise of safety from those things without.
Sooner than she expected, but later than she’d have liked, that same darkness overcame her as she descended finally into slumber. When the night was done and the sun once more peeked through the thick canopy above, Argos was waiting, his tiger teeth gleaming behind his tiger smile.
Fuddlewump didn’t scream this time, though part of her wanted to. She wished that the tiger had merely been a bad dream; a nasty, stinky dream that forced its way into her special space when she wasn’t looking. But he wasn’t a dream, even if he was nasty. No, her dreams would never allow him in, and so it was that in reality she was face to face with a vicious predator, and it was in reality that she could be eaten at any moment.
“So,” she asked. “Is today the day?”
Argos chuckled as he looked his prey up and down, side to side, over and under once again. He thought long and hard, but eventually shook his furry head. “No,” he said. “You’re far too big to eat. It wouldn’t do at all. No, I think I’ll simply wait. When you are less big, and when I am ready, then I’ll eat you.”
The familiar refrain was hardly comforting to Fuddlewump, who cast a sad gaze at her sizable rump and mammoth feet. “Perhaps I am too big,” she thought. “Maybe I’m just too fat for friends.” With a sigh she looked back to Argos, patiently waiting. He didn’t say anything else, but she knew that he wasn’t going to leave. He would keep following her until he decided it was time.
And so she went about her day as only an anxious, too-big elephant could: she went to get water, and patiently waited for the other animals to have their fill just in case she stepped on one; she walked through the paths of the forest, pausing at each juncture to question whether or not she would fit through the space; she helped baby birds get back into their nests high in the trees, for if she was too big the least she could do was help something too little. It was a long, humble day, and ever present was Argos, watching and listening with a knowing grin.
When finally Fuddlewump returned to her soft, warm bed of moss, the tiger was still with her. This time, however, she didn’t talk to him for fear of what he might say. After all, he’d already revealed so much about her: too loud, too big… What was next? The tired elephant didn’t want to know. “Eat me, or don’t. Do as you wish. I’m going to sleep.”
Argos simply watched and waited, slowly blending into the forest as the cover of darkness once again enveloped them both. She didn’t hope for dreams this night, for she felt she didn’t deserve them. The dreams were special things, and she felt very unspecial. No, the dreams would find someone more deserving. Fuddlewump wanted only to forget.
And forget she did, if only briefly, for the next thing she knew morning was upon her, and as he had been the day before Argos was simply upon his haunches, poised for whatever tigery thing he wished to do today. The elephant sighed, wondering if perhaps he’d eat her now. Was she quiet enough? Small enough? Did it even really matter?
She turned and nestled back into her moss, leaving the tiger to contemplate.
“Have you tired of our game already, elephant?”
Fuddlewump merely shook her head. “I’m simply tired, perhaps of the game, perhaps of everything else. You won’t even use my name. I gave it to you and you just tossed it aside.”
Argos laughed then, a deep, rumbly thing. “You gave me nothing, elephant, though I asked. It made you a much quieter thing. Not loud at all.”
Fuddlewump, confused now, rolled over and stared incredulously at her foe. Seeing her bewilderment, he continued:
“Two days ago I said you were far too loud to eat, and you were. But the truth is the loudest voice of all, and you chose to silence it. Actions, too, speak loudly, and as I watched you yours told me much. Perhaps it was all I needed, but our journey had only just begun.
“Yesterday I said that you were far too big to eat, and you were. But even though you are an elephant, and elephants take up so much space, it’s your heart that was the biggest. You never tried to push me away, even though you tried so hard to push away yourself. You put yourself at the service of others, even though they asked nothing of you.
“On both days I said that I would eat you when I’m ready, and so I shall. But I may never be ready, and for now I don’t want to be. As a tiger I could fill my belly many times over if I ate your flesh, but in the end the cost would be too great. You are too loud, too big, too special.
“So no, Fuddlewump. Today is not the day. It may never be. This is the way of things. All that’s left is for you to see it too.”
Fuddlewump could only stare, shock overwhelming her elephant brain as she tried to come to terms with what Argos had said. Her truth? Her actions? Her heart? Why was this happening?
She watched him closer and closer, and soon the tiger began to glow, seeming to become one with the air around him. She wanted to call out, to beg for him to stay and give her the answer she so desperately sought, but the words would not come. She knew, deep within herself, that they would not make a difference. And it was then she remembered:
Dreams were sacred things. They were an escape from her sad and lonely reality, and they allowed her to be whatever she wanted to be. They let her break free from the fear and anxiety that ruled her life. They gave her hope for the future, and reconciliation for the past. Dreams were quiet and warm, soft and bright. Dreams were wishes unwished and truths unspoken.
As she watched Argos fade away, she understood. She saw him for what he was for the first time.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I will never stop dreaming.”
