Looking out from his spot on the bed, George could see the entire room.
The walls were a cool green, what one might call mint. There was a
large window to his left with a solitary tree standing guard outside.
Through this window he’d seen the seasons change the tree 108 times.
   It seemed to him that the tree got to live four different lives every
year. There was the winter blizzard that made the tree stark and white.
This was melted away by the rainy spring and with that came the green
buds of a new life followed by the heat of the summer which nourished
the tree and allowed it to turn a dazzling green. Then the time came
for the tree to switch from green to the bright fall colors of red,
orange, and yellow. George had witnessed this cycle for so many years.
   George could see a lot more than just the changing season from where he
sat. He could look forward and watch the grey dust glittering in the
afternoon ray of light that crept across the room. The skylight that it
came from was a constant source of pleasure for him. George enjoyed
watching the birds swooping freely overhead, separated from him by an
indistinct pane of glass.  Lately, watching the dust swirling in the
light had been his favorite pastime. He had been trying all morning to
count the specks when a woman’s voice rang out in the hallway beyond
the room.
   “Well we have to clean it out at some point. It’s been just a place for
dust to gather for far too long.”
    Her voice was coarser than he remembered. He could picture Mother with
short golden hair and a smile that was warmer than sunshine. But that
was an old memory. He knew now that her hair had turned gray and her
still smiling lips were surrounded by lines.
   “I understand you’re busy, but I don’t want to go through it without
you.” A brief pause suggested she was talking to someone who was not
present. “I’m sure that’s not true. You can’t mean that it is all
trash. And even if it were, I won’t be able to throw anything away
without you looking through it all first, Christopher.” Her voice
drifter farther away and became indistinct.
   Christopher. At the mention of his name George felt an instant spark of
inner warmth. They had known each other for more than half the season
changes that George had witnessed. After the seventeenth summer,
Christopher – the boy who had a smile like his mothers and deeper blue
eyes than any bit of sky could do justice to – had disappeared.
George had kept watch for his return. His black eyes had scanned the
darkest corners of the room. He’d watched closely when Mother opened the
closet, hoping to catch a glimpse of the hiding boy.
   Once in a while, Christopher returned, although his visits were rare
now. He had come back each time older, taller, and leaner, than George
had thought possible. This older boy hadn’t looked at George with the
same bright eyes of a child in a long time now. On one return, the boy
had knocked George off his resting place on the bed and forgotten about
him. Six days later Mother, with her graying hair, had come and found
him face down on the floor. She had hugged George tightly and put him
back where he belonged.
   The visits never lasted long, and Christopher, no longer the little boy
with whom George had shared his life, would leave without ever saying
goodbye.
   And now what was to become of me? George thought to himself. He had
seen the legos that once scattered the floor get picked up and their
box placed in the back of the closet. The models of dinosaurs and
little plastic cars had been long gone as well; packed away and hidden
from sight in their own box. They had been replaced by CDs and movies,
magazines and hats. Would he be forced to suffer in the same darkness?
With this thought, George began to shut out the world. If his fate was
to spend the rest of his life in that silent, dark loneliness, he would
do it on his own terms. The room drifted slowly out of sight, as if a
fog had covered everything he used to look at.

   At one point, George was awakened from his darkness by loud noises. He
had been moved higher up onto a shelf and got a birds-eye view of the
room. From his perch on the shelf, George watched the woman direct two
men. One he recognized as the Father, but the other never lifted his
face long enough for George to recognize, although his movements were
somehow familiar. They removed the bed and the dresser and many other
small items around the room were boxed up. A large grey machine was
moved in. Father stood on it and began walking. The machine whirred
with activity and the sound of heavy footsteps clouded George’s ears.
   George realized now that Christopher must have forgotten him. He would
not be returning and the spark of hope within George darkened. Without
a bed, there would be no reason for his return. George let himself
drift back into his foggy darkness.

   Once again George was awakened, this time by a sudden movement. He let
himself drift back into the light when he felt himself lifted into two
large hands. When the fog cleared, he could see himself flying over the
grass. Not flying. He was being carried. And it wasn’t the grass he had
so long ago forgotten about, but the dark green carpet of the bedroom
floor.
The floor changed to wood for a moment then more green as he was carried
out the threshold of the room and into the hallway, moving towards the
stairs. The image of the grass stayed with him and caused him to hope he
was being brought to a large field, like one he had seen so long ago. The
open field was bright with sunshine, the memory of which warmed him for a
brief moment. The sun would be a welcome sight after so long in the cold
darkness.
   In the distance he heard a voice cry out, “Daddy? Daddy! Where you go?
Gramma says I get the present please!”
   The little voice was bright and sweet. The high pitch rang through
George’s ears like a chorus of bells.
   At the bottom of the stairs he was shifted to face a wall, his back
against that of the person carrying him. The wall in front of him now
was a bright white, almost yellow with the way the sun was reflecting
on it. He began to move away from it.
   “Lemme see! Lemme see please!” The voice was closer, but still quite
small.
   George felt himself turning and was suddenly face to face with a pair
of big, twinkling blue eyes. The little girls smile shone into him,
pushing all the darkness that remained within him out. George only had
an instant to take in the cherubic face before he was quickly grasped
tightly by her two small arms. He was warmer than he’d been in a long
time and he felt this heat moving around to fill every part of his
small body.
   A deep voice from behind him said, “Theresa, this is George. We were
friends for a long time, but now he needs you.”
   It took a moment for George to understand. He hadn’t had a friend in so
long, but there was something about that voice. Theresa turned him
around in her arms to hug him from behind. Then George knew his old
friend. He had grown bigger in so many seasons apart, but those eyes
were the same, and were finally looking at him in the same way that
they had so long ago.
   No longer was the little brown bear forgotten. He was looked at by a
new generation of twinkling blue eyes. With that, all he had felt was
understood and forgiven. He had been given his second season of life.

(this is my original short story for class before i edited it)