Blinded Stuffed Sting-ray

Manta wasn’t lost in the traditional sense, no, she lives in my closet now on my shelf. But her life as my travelling stuffed animal is no more.

I purchased her on a school trip to the aquarium, with my own money saved up from chores. A nearby student sneered when I picked up the little grey, white-polka-dotted stingray, saying it was for kids. And I guess 14 isn't really a kid but I didn't care. Manta was perfectly sized, big enough to give hugs and small enough to not be noticed by strangers. I was struggling to make friends on the trip, but now, Manta was my friend. She also wore my sunglasses better than I did. One specific photo of her with my glasses is lost in my old laptop, but that's another story all together. I declared her one of the few precious things I would bring with me to college when the time comes.

When I returned from my 3 week trip, Manta in arms as I walked off the train, I discovered my family had adopted a dog.

It was hate at first sight between him and Manta.

He ate everything and anything, tearing through my sister's toys and brother's legos. I kept my door shut out of fear for my belongings. He was bigger than what my parents expected too, and soon he was able to reach our counters.

One day I came home from who-knows-where to find the dog on the coach, ripping Manta apart.

And I screamed and yanked Manta out and washed her "fur" and observed sadly that her cat-like eyes had been yanked out. My brother returned her eyes later that day, but it was hopeless.

I kept her eyes next to my bed, as a reminder to find a professional who could sew Manta back together, but after a few years they've hidden under the clutter of work. I can't find her eyes. They are lost.

And so Manta remains in my closet, also lost.