Beanie's Beanies

Beanie the dog with a beanie on.

First half: what could’ve been.

He could’ve wasted his time

On the job.

What job? You ask.

Well, it was a job in which he could have wasted his time.

Use your imagination.

But Beanie didn’t want to waste his time.

He just wanted to get the job done.

So he did.

He didn’t waste his time.

No, not one minute.

Beanie sewed and sewed those beanie hats.

Yes, he pulled that sewing needle in and out,

In and out.

As soon as he was done, he grabbed the hat with his mouth and walked over to the pile of hats made for kids with cancer. They loved the beanie hats. They loved the crochet work—rose, periwinkle, viridian, coral, pearl and sunset orange. Such beautiful colors. All done by Beanie.

He mouth crafted all of them.

Sewed them in minutes.

He also played fetch with those in wheelchairs.

Children loved tossing the ropes and plastics of toys—all toys for dogs, but Beanie thought of other ideas. He would drag little rocks or moss-covered logs, and out came fairies. Fairies living in magical worlds in which Beanie would bring the beanie-wearing children into magical worlds full of golden sand made of money (only one coin costing thousands of dollars once a year were allowed to each child), and then he would bring each child through twisted, knotted branches overlapping each other in an archway and then into a castle with doors that would allow the children to go back in time and see the historical people on the walls.

One kid saw Napoleon. Another child saw George Washington. Another Marie Antoinette.

Beanie could’ve used it not very well.

He could’ve wasted it.

He could’ve—

“Beanie!”

He suddenly woke up.

It was another day.

He had to wake up. He looked around—a hospital bed, a baby blue blanket, a stethoscope, a hand on the pulse, needles, an X-ray machine, a tray with other evil-looking devices and a teddy bear.

A huge fluffy teddy bear.

The child grabbed it and squeezed it hard.

Then the child had to rest. He coughed, his skeletal body shaking from cold.

“You have a fever. Go to sleep!”

Beanie watched as the child lay back on the bed.

He watched as the child blinked.

The child coughed—and blood appeared on the tissue held to his mouth. He took it away, and gasped.

“Blood!”

“Yes, you are sick.”

“I am going to die.”

“Let’s not think that way.”

“I am!”

“Let’s just go to sleep.”

A day later, the child’s unmoving eyes were closed, and the corpse was put into a casket. Beanie, wearing a pitch-black beanie, looked down.

He whined. And lay down.

He blinked. All those adventures.

Gone in a heartbeat.

He looked up. All people dressed in black. Coming and—

The second half: what actually happened.

Look like someone’s experiencing something fun.

A cat appeared.

It had slits for pupils. Like its eyes were red but black slits were there, staring evilly at Beanie.

“Who’s having fun?”

“Why do you care?”

The cat chuckled, the room’s temperature dropping way below the freezing point. “I’m trapped in the book. Come free me, and all your problems will be solved.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Does it matter? That child’s dead. Dead from the cancer having rotted her bones.”

“But—”

“So I guess your little cute job of entertaining these children is over. They’re just dying anyway. They don’t see the point of you giving them life if they’re just going to die anyway. Right? Come on. Death is inevitable. Why should you waste your time?”

The Corgi barked and growled low under his breath. The cat blinked and then walked over to one of the children sleeping in one of the beds. It, like a chameleon, blended in with its surroundings. Becoming metallically gray like the metal banister, the cat looked at the child.

The Corgi blinked. The other child died. But they all die. It wasn’t like cancer was always curable. It wasn’t. Scientists were trying to find out a way to cure it. Maybe in another life cancer will never be.

The cat looked back. “So…this is one of the patients, huh?”

“Yes—why do you care?”

“Where’s that job? Where’s that funeral?”

“I never went.” The Corgi said to himself. Half to himself.

“Why? Scared of children being eaten by death?”

“Death doesn’t affect me. I know children die. I don’t understand it, but I accept it.”

The cat leaped down, turning back into a white cat, with evil eyes. It smiled, sending shivers down the Corgi’s back. “Don’t believe me?”

“Believe you?”

“Please—you don’t do enough. These children die because they are just slipping into another place. They’re just dying. Why waste your time caring about these kids if they’re just going to—”

“Die. I get it.” But the Corgi looked deep into the cat’s eyes. He knew he should’ve been at the funeral. That kid was one of his favorites. He didn’t have to stay back. He looked down. “You’re…just wasting my time. I don’t want to waste my time!”

He ran out of the room, the cat’s voice seeming to be in his mind. You’re wasting your time with these children. They’re just corpses being added to the graveyard. You don’t do anything but watch them waste away. They don’t care about you. You’re just a dog. Why do they care? They’re just going to die anyway. So what’s the point of life if it just leads ultimately to death? Doesn’t life end in death?

Beanie dashed through a set of open double doors, scaring a nurse, but he didn’t care. He ran and ran, hurdling through the arms of people reaching down to snatch him.

Run, run.

Beanie eventually stopped. He looked back.

He blinked.

He didn’t know what to do.

They were all going to just die. Why should he care? What was a funeral to attend? His beanies…he wasn’t working a job in which he crocheted beanies. He just was a dog in the cancer hospital. What was he doing? Should be entertaining children.

But he couldn’t stop death. He could only allow it.

He charged back to the place. And faced the cat.

He told it to back off. It nodded respectfully.

“They get their entertainment. Death cannot be avoided. Accept that!”

The cat vanished.

Beanie knew it’d be back. Back to kill him with despair.

But he kept his head high. He knew he wasn’t fooling around.

His job was good as gold—being loved by staff, children and parents alike.

The dog of the cancer hospital.

The cat came back.

Beanie told the cat he didn’t go to the funeral like he could’ve.

The cat blended in with its surroundings.

Let’s hope you blend in with your lies. Because that’s what fits you best!

The cat always appeared right from his fantasy book.

It said it wrote it.

Beanie said he got another job.

Entertaining children in fantasy novels.

At least he could provide this to them before death took them away.

“Before you could drown them in despair!”

“You keep them from it.”

“Yep.”

Then Beanie’s eyes flashed open—what was he doing?

He was wasting his time! Talking to stupid cat that wasted his time. That’s what.

Beanie shook his head, running away from the cat.

Running towards his job.

“Beanie! I’ve tried to tell you. No more daydreaming.”

Beanie nodded, and got back to work.

That cat could go.

Go away forever.

Go die.