A lion stands guard over the wooden blocks. He’s a trusted friend, that lion. Never locked away in the zoo with the others, he might well hold the key to the city. At night, he sleeps in a child’s bed, curled close enough to catch the drool of sleep. His ear has been chewed and his fur is matted where he’s been loved too much. He never goes in the washer. It would ruin him, ruin the smell that makes him special, sog the stuffing so he wouldn’t dry in time get to work. Who would keep things safe, then?
Monica's Monday Morning Flash 