My name isn't important. This much I've come to understand. So you want to know about me, I suppose, or you would not be reading this. Do you remember that teddy bear your grandma gave you when you were about three? The one you loved for a few days and then left in the corner of your bedroom to collect dust? That's me. You forgot me, but I never forgot you as I sat there, slumped over, eventually shoved into your dark, hot attic. There's bugs and spooks up there, but you didn't consider this when your mommy asked you if you ''wanted me'' anymore. So there, in the attic, I laid... collecting dust, spider webs, moths, tearing, going ragged and unloved. I cried until my left eye came undone. My stuffing came out due to the distress of going without human interaction. But while I was up there, hurting and missing you, I found books. Lots and lots of books. Your daddy is one weird fellow. He hid books up there, most of them about survival and escape techniques. Oh, those came in very handy. Who knew some duct tape, rope and saliva could open an attic from the inside and hide my identity while I made my escape? MWAHAHAHA! So now I'm free, possibly insane, and a bear of higher intelligence!