I don't entirely know why, but I've been thinking a lot about Winnie the Pooh lately. Maybe it's because I'm having to think about University and Growing Up and Leaving Home, but I don't think I'm ready for any of that yet, so I'm thinking back to the things I used to love (and still do, mind!) when I was a little girl.

This is by no means a happy story. If you want that, you ought to direct yourself elsewhere. This is a story about Growing Up and Leaving Old Friends Behind; it may cause a feeling of nostalgia, and maybe even some guilt. If you don't believe me, then I have just one sentence for you: This one shot is based very heavily on Toy Story 3.

Enjoy!

"Oh, bother," said Pooh bear, hitting the side of his forehead with each "Think, Think, Think".

"Oh, bother," sighed Pooh bear. He had forgotten what he had to remember.

He sat down on a log outside his house and picked up a Honey Pot. It was empty. Ah yes, now he remembered! He had forgotten that he had eaten all his Honey and Christopher Robin was bringing him some more. You see, Pooh was a bear of Very Little Brain, and he often forgot what he had to remember.

As he waited for Christopher Robin and his honey, he hummed a little tune.

"Dum tee tum," he sang. "Dum dee tee."

Very soon after, he heard Christopher Robin calling out his name. "Pooh bear!" he heard, and Pooh was very happy.

"Hello, Christopher Robin," he said. "How are you today?"

"Christopher, dinner's ready!"

"Coming, Mum!"

Christopher Robin carefully put down his toys and laid an empty old ink pot next to a worn yellow bear. "Here you are, Pooh. I'm afraid I can't stay for supper with you because I have to go to my own. Save me a little bit of honey, though, please. I'll be back soon!"

And then, his tummy grumbling, Christopher Robin ran down the stairs.

His parents had cried when he'd graduated. It was quite embarrassing, and then his dad had called him "Christopher Robin" in front of all his friends! Honestly, it was quite silly how emotional they were being. They still had a whole summer together and he hadn't even thought about packing yet.

The first week, they'd gone camping. Putting up the tent had taken hours - none of the poles seemed to fit together! Chris (as everyone but his mum called him) was mortified when a pretty girl had to fix it. Then, of course, his two-year-old sister had started crying, and she cried all night every night and Chris hardly got any sleep. The only time he'd had any fun at all was when he'd made friends with some twins and the three of them went fishing in a nearby river.

The second week, he locked himself in his room. His friends were all still away - abroad in exotic paradises, lucky things. Though after a few hours, he didn't notice they were gone, because he'd found an old video game he'd never finished, and besides, there was endless amusement on the internet.

The third and fourth weeks were full of parties and staying out all night and sleeping all through the day. He didn't even go home some days, choosing to sleep over at a friend's house! "If this is what university's like," he thought to himself, "if this is what it's like, I can't wait to start."

The fifth week was the hottest so he practically lived with one of his friends - the family was rich and they had a massive pool in the basement. He went home once to get another pair of trunks and to grab some games and spare controllers, but it wasn't until the weather cooled again on the following Monday that he went back.

The sixth week was the last week of August. It was time to start packing - he had to move into the halls of residence by the first of September so he'd have enough time to get himself sorted before the lectures started.

"Do you need any help, son?" his dad asked.

"Sure."

For about an hour, Chris helped to sort out his clothes and books and video games, but then he got bored and spent increasingly long breaks at his computer.

"This is your junk, Chris, aren't you gonna do anything?"

"But I've already done stuff today!"

"You're leaving in two days and most of your crap is still spread around the house!"

"I'm coming home at Christmas, aren't I?"

"But you won't live here anymore!"

They fought for a few more hours, until his mum and sister came back from the shops and broke them up. Chris' dad shouted, "Anything that's not packed by the end of tomorrow is going in the skip!" and then stormed out the house to calm down. Chris just sulked at his laptop and complained to his best friend over MSN.

The next day after breakfast, his mum came into his room carrying a couple of dusty bin bags.

"I found some things in your old room," she explained, "and thought you might want to look through them with me."

So he did. They uncovered board games with half the pieces missing, torn clothes, old cuddly toys.

"I remember this little guy!" Chris exclaimed, picking up a dirty yellow bear whose stuffing was spilling out his bottom. "Um... Pooh bear, wasn't it?"

His mum smiled, looking at the two but seeing the past. "You used to take him everywhere when you were a kid. This 'silly old bear' was your best friend, remember?"

Chris stared at the bear. Dust clung to his fur and rubbed off onto his hands. Had he always been this thin, or had some of his stuffing actually fallen out?

Carefully, Chris pushed the stuffing back in, put the bear back on the ground, and looked at his other old toys. There was a pink piglet, a faded yellow rabbit, a tailless tiger, a one-legged, one-eyed owl, a sad-looking donkey, and a baby kangaroo. He was torn between wincing and smiling when he remembered their names: he obviously hadn't been very imaginative.

Although he was sure he was. He vaguely remembered playing with them when he was eight. They all lived in a wood somewhere...

"What do you want to do with all these?" his mum asked.

Chris looked up and realised he'd ended up sitting on the floor while she sat on the bed. He felt like he were six years old again, with his old stuff spread around him.

He shrugged, stood up and wiped his hands on his jeans. "I dunno. They're too dirty for Jane to have them; I guess they're only good for that skip Dad hired."

"I could clean them and put them in the attic for you," she offered.

"What for? I'm never gonna play with them again."

"Maybe when you're as old as I am, you'll like having old toys to look back on and remember the good times," she joked. Chris laughed, though he didn't think she was very funny.

"Alright," she sighed. "Help me put everything back in the bags then."

He reluctantly picked up the dusty items again. He hesitated for a second when he picked up the bear, but then some stuffing slipped out and the bear's tummy flattened a little more, and Chris unceremoniously dropped him into the bag and then went to wash his hands.

After lunch, his dad came upstairs to help him finish boxing everything up, and less than twenty-four hours later, the two loaded everything into Chris' car.

His parents cried. He told them they were being ridiculous because he was only going an hour away. He gave them all a tight hug - for their sake, of course - got in the car, and started up the engine.

"I'll see you at Christmas!" he shouted as he backed out the driveway, and eagerly drove off. He could hardly wait to see his new accommodation!

That night, his mum stayed up cleaning his old toys. Pooh. Piglet. Rabbit. Tigger. Owl. Eeyore. Roo and... where was Kanga? Chris' mum spent an hour searching and found her covered with dead spiders in a forgotten corner of Chris' old toybox. And after they were all clean, she sat down with her sewing kit and fixed them as best she could, and then went up to Chris' room and lined them up on the uncovered mattress against the headboard. She promised them he'd be home soon, and then she went to bed.

The end.

I honestly can't understand why every short one shot turns out to be so depressing. My dad reckons 'teenage angst phase' but I don't think that's entirely it. I'm quite a happy teenager, considering! Although I will admit that I do love how sad things are much more powerful and emotive.

Something I like about this one is that it's one I can relate to (Growing Up, that is) and hopefully, all you reading this can as well. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty or nostalgic (though these are a personal side effect of writing this); all I really wanted to do with this was write a short piece about Growing Up. This could have been an original just as easily, but I think everyone reading this has loved Winnie the Pooh themselves so it has much more of an impact.

I am trying not to completely grow up so much, I still have all my cuddly toys on my shelves - they're taking up an entire wall! Realistically, I need the room for books, but I'll be damned if I pack them up in boxes to gather dust in the attic! (Because I'm actually much too afraid of ladders to ever go up to the attic...)

Although I am quite lucky. I have brother who is exactly thirteen and a half years younger than me so he'll be able to keep me young until he becomes a teenager and I'm a childish enough adult to keep his inner child alive. :P

Sorry for rambling! I hope you enjoyed this one shot. Please review and tell me what you thought! :)

ShadowedPuppeteer:)