Vanilla Dreams, Holiday Oasis, and Caramel Latte

The room was cold, sterile, and bright. Except for the little girl, with snot and tears streaming down her face. And except for the little boy, who had only been able to be consoled by his parents with a giant sticky lollipop, gripped tightly between his grubby little three-year-old fingers. Sparky didn’t know that lollipops could become such a sticky puddle, but somehow this one had.

The room was cold, not so sterile, and it was definitely really quite bright. The white lights shone down from the roof with such aggression that Sparky’s eyes were forced into tiny slits. One of Mum’s candles that all have the exact same vanilla smell, but all have names like ‘Vanilla Dreams’, ‘Holiday Oasis’, and ‘Caramel Latte’, would have done quite nicely instead of those lights that were far too aggressive for their own good.

The room was cold, not so sterile, and definitely really quite bright. Except for the giant bed that Sparky was lying on. A bed that had clearly seen many better days. It had once been a vibrant blue, but years of dirt and grime had turned it a greyish brown, and there were many small holes where the stuffing had fallen out. Nevertheless, it was Sparky’s bed, and it was warm.

The room only got warmer as a peculiar feeling started to overcome Sparky, spreading from one of his legs all the way through his body. It was warm, and cosy, and made him just oh so sleepy. And those lights were just far too bright. Sparky took one last look around at the snotty little girl, the grubby little boy, the candle-loving woman, and his best friend in the entire world. Then the lights shone far too brightly, and as Sparky wondered what he had ever done to those lights to deserve such aggressive treatment, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

*

Five days later, Sparky’s best friend returned to the vet clinic, weaving precariously through the odd assortment of pets and their owners. A tiny little chihuahua snapped at his heels, its incredibly disproportionate teeth ready to sink into his flesh. Of course this ‘dog’ (more like a tiny, fluffy personification of the devil) was not put on a lead, as its owner had undoubtedly named it something along the lines of Angel, and thought that this little ball of yapping fluffy teeth was the most precious thing in the world, and that to put it on a leash would be ridiculously inhumane, as Angel would never hurt a fly. But Angel was clearly trying to hurt Sparky’s best friend.

Sparky’s best friend continued his trek, but not before giving the owner a very disapproving look that, to him, said, ‘Control whatever this thing is, because it is not as precious as you think.’ According to the owner, it said, ‘What a precious little animal. I want one for myself.’ Sparky’s best friend got a smallish cardboard box, wrapped in an exoskeleton of glad wrap and duct tape, from the smiling lady sitting behind the reception desk. It was clear that she was only smiling because the continuous noise of the menagerie in the waiting room had driven her insane, and the smile was simultaneously a coping mechanism and a silent scream for help. With a nod to the smiling lady, hoping it conveyed ‘I’m so sorry that you’ve become insane, it’s only reasonable given the environment,’ he turned and left.

When Sparky’s best friend got home, the two children were running around screaming (as per usual), so he sighed and brought the sad little cardboard box inside. The woman had lit a candle called ‘Vanilla Caramel Delight’ that assaulted the nostrils but did mean that the bright overhead lights didn’t have to get turned on and attack everyone’s eyeballs. Sparky’s best friend used a small fruit knife to cut through the glad wrap and duct tape surrounding the cardboard box and slowly lifted out a modest-sized urn that was modest in colour and pattern as well. And by modest in colour and pattern, it was a metallic silver with absolutely no pattern present whatsoever, and on the side in teeny tiny writing was engraved ‘Sparky’.

Only about thirty minutes later, the family was gathered in the small backyard, standing in front of a very shallow grave that the little boy had dug with his little red plastic shovel, which had spent far too much of its lifetime being baked in the sun and was now more of a pale pink than red. The woman had insisted on bringing the candle outside as it added to the ceremony. At least in the outdoors the scent of the candle wasn’t nearly as pungent. The little girl had insisted on being the one to carry the urn out to the shallow grave, and so she was. She made the family stand and watch as she exited from the kitchen door and walked, slowly and very, very solemnly, towards the hedges near the grave. The only issue was that the little girl was just four years old, and very excitable, and as she got closer she got faster and faster, until she was nearly running, and then she was running, and running, and running, until she couldn’t stop and tripped over the burning candle, landing mouth first onto the urn clutched in her tiny little hands with a loud CLANG!

As the little girl stood, she dropped the urn on the ground and forgot about it entirely as a giant wail that should not possibly come out of such a small person escaped from her mouth, and blood dripped from her nose and lip all down the front of her rainbow-patterned dress. The woman scooped her up and rushed to find the family’s first-aid kit, which most likely hadn’t been restocked in years and, as a result, held only one sad little Band-Aid. The little boy ran after them, as his big sister couldn’t possibly go anywhere without him, and so Sparky’s best friend followed the rest of the family inside as well, leaving the urn in the grass, which was going to need mowing in the next couple of days.

That night it was dark, but not really that dark because they lived in the city and there were always lights on everywhere in the city. Sparky’s best friend came outside onto the slightly damp grass and picked up the urn, wiping the little girl’s blood off with his sleeve, then cursed himself because now he had blood on his sleeve that he would have to stain-treat later. He gently placed his best friend Sparky into the grave that the little boy had dug earlier and, as tears streamed silently down his face, covered the hole over using the little not-so-red shovel. When the hole was filled in, he gave the grave a nod that he knew said ‘Thank you.’