Smoke from the sniper’s rifle still hangs in the air. Pooh, lays dead, riddled with a single bullet to the voice box, drenched in slowly coagulating hunny from the shattered pot still clutched in his hand. Eeyore stands over him, head hung low in his usual fashion and proclaims with gravelly voice, “I guess they noticed him…”

This short scenario courtesy of one of Teresa and Melanie’s morning conversations over first coffee.