Pumpkit the Knitten

218 of 300
Pumpkit
95% Happy
Stolen
1 Nov 2019
Status: NEVER EVER EVER EVER EVER UFT.
Name: Pumpkit
Travel: Red Tree Branch (Venafera Stage 2)
Obtained: CSP November 2019
Notes: Gotten from the CSP using CC lent to me by @playermocha345 and @wigglytuff. I can't thank you guys enough! Release day~
The name is pun-intended btw ;D Below is another short story I wrote c:



The Horrible Mistake

I had always loved cars. In my room, hundreds of miniature car models were put proudly on display atop rows and rows of shelves. The Reader’s Digest and The Standard newspapers on the bookshelf were shoved aside and replaced with Top Gear magazines. But it was only ever a dream, a wish held dear. We were too poor to even have our own van. Mum had died of cancer when I was six years old and my father had had to work hard to make ends meet.
I was all he had. Every night my father would whisper into my ear, “Remember, you’re very special to me. You’re the reason why I chose to live, why I chose not to give up.” Those words motivated me to study hard, begin to work part-time, and eventually, with my help, my father’s business grew. I must admit, we became quite wealthy.
By the time my last academic year was approaching, I had received multiple well-earned academic prizes and scholarships. I was thrilled about graduating from university and heading off to the job of my dreams. I had been telling my father every day about the newest model on display, the Lamborghini Huracán Coupè, hoping that he would buy it for me to celebrate my graduation. Every single time I walked past the sleek, yellow car on display, I would have to fight the temptation of bursting into the store and asking for the price of the yellow Lamborghini.
On the day of the graduation, I returned home, and my father wrapped me in a huge bear hug. I hugged him eagerly, wanting to receive the keys to the car. Father patted me on the back, and announced, “I’m so proud of you! In the many years to come, remember that I love you a lot. I hope you like my gift to you on this very special day.” I smiled at him sweetly. I understood how fond he was of me.
He let go of me, and from his back, he pulled out a dusty Bible and a withered tie, and gently put them into my hands. My confusion melted into shock.
“Are you kidding me?”
Before my father could answer, I threw them onto the floor in utter frustration, furious that he could even think of giving me such a measly, worthless “present”.
“Don’t you understand?!” I cried. “WHY did I tell you about that car, every, single, day?!” I bellowed, thrusting my face right in front of his, so he could feel my fury. My body shaking with rage, I shrieked in his face, “I want that car, and I deserve it! You can afford it! You think I worked so hard just to support you? Now all my effort is wasted, for you gave me nothing, except for a broken tie and a stupid Bible!”
I hurled my graduation cap to the floor, stomped on the Bible and the tie, grabbed my backpack that contained all of my essentials, and slammed the door as hard as I could behind me. The last thing I remembered was my father, kneeling on the floor in front of his rejected gifts, and weeping into his hands.
For the next month, my father’s sobs echoed in my my head and prevented me from thinking straight and working properly. However, I was making good progress: within a year, I became manager of the company, bought an apartment of my own, married a rich colleague, had two kids…
That day - I remember it clearly. It was my son’s birthday and I was in my office and about to leave when I received a call. I glanced at the screen; it was an anonymous number. No Caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hi, is this Jack Hughes?”
“Who would you be, and what do you want? You had better make this quick. I’m in a hurry.”
“Um, I’m looking for William Hughes’ son?”
“Well, that’s me, but why would you need to know?”
“I am Mr Banks, Mr Hughes’ lawyer. I am sorry to tell you that your father passed away yesterday of heart failure, and his funeral will be held in two days’ time, and his Will shall be read on the same day at his home, which I presume you know where it is.”
“Yes, um, well, thank you.”
And he hung up.
I was speechless.
I felt as if somebody had just punched my stomach. I became a hollow log, a deep pit of aching grief stretching down my body. My throbbing head felt light and heavy at the same time. I felt nauseous and queasy as my heart pounded so hard I feared it was going to crack my ribcage. My secretary must have heard my screeches of anguish, and my boss sent me home for the rest of the day.

On the day of the funeral, I stepped off the bus into a blast of chilly, November air, and it drove quietly away. The houses nearby were silent and peaceful, as if they were mourning for my father’s loss. My eyes brimmed with tears as I trod through the soft, mushy snow. I stopped in front of house number 13, and gingerly walked up the familiar front steps and opened the creaking door. Inside I was met with a somber silence. My father’s old friends nodded curtly at me, and I dipped my head in shame.

Everything inside looked exactly the same as the day I left, except for the Bible and the tie, which were neatly placed on my father’s desk. I sighed. It was all so long ago.


The funeral itself was all a blur of unfamiliar faces. It was a nightmare. I felt like I should cry, but no tears came. My whole body felt numb. ‘You are so heartless,’ I thought to myself. Shortly, my father’s best friend, Michael stood up to read a speech. All I could hear was: “Blah blah blah blah blah William Hughes blah blah blah loss blah blah blah heartbroken blah blah blah.” This went on for what seemed like eternity, until the lawyer announced, “I will now read his Will. ‘I, William Hughes, give and bequeath to Jack Hughes, all funds in my savings account and all property that I own.’”

I blinked in shock. After everything that had happened on the day I left, my father was still willing to give me everything. He still loved me. He never abandoned me, even though I had abandoned him. As I struggled to prevent tears from rolling down my cheeks, I walked over to my father’s desk, and replaced the tie I was wearing with the one my father had gifted me. Then slowly, carefully I picked up the Bible.

I gently flipped through the creased pages. When I reached the middle, a yellowing note fell out, and I bent down to pick it up. It read:
“Dear son,
Happy graduation! I love you, and I hope you enjoy the gift.
The Bible was your mother’s. It has been passed down for generations, and now it’s yours. She told me to give it to you once you graduated, and to tell you that she loves you no matter what.
The tie is quite old, and I bet the moths will enjoy it more than you will! It’s a symbol of your maturity. My own father gave this to me on my graduation, and now I’m giving it to you, hopefully you’ll see the value to it, and pass it onto your son one day!
There’s one last gift: I’ve saved up the money to buy this ever since you told me about it! If you shake the Bible, you’ll find it!
XOXO,
Dad.”

I did as he wrote, and indeed, a shiny car key tied with a faded red ribbon, fell out with a ‘clank’ onto the wooden floor.

That word. REMORSE. A powerful word. That was what I felt as the realisation hit me. I began to sob, and the sobs turned to cries, and then screeches of grief. Deep, aching grief. I was screaming with remorse. I was crying with remorse.

Overwhelmed by emotion and the pain of regret, I landed in a heap onto the floor and scooped up the car keys. Clutching them, I hugged the Bible tightly as if I was hugging Father. In my head a small letter to my father formed, and I whispered:

“Father, dear father,

I know you are well in heaven. I miss you, and I want to say that I am very sorry for the unforgivable words I said before I left you. I greatly regret it, and I pray for your forgiveness. You did not deserve that treatment.
I love you, and I miss you so much.

Your son,
Jack.”










If you’re curious, here’s a link: https://www.lamborghini.com/en-en/models/huracan/huracan-coupe
My favourite car.

About Knitten Eggs

Say! This egg looks very warm. I mean, look at how beautifully patched it is! And... are those a pair of needles? How dangerous. Should we remove it?

About the Knitten Creature

The Knitten is a mysterious creature. It's fluffy. And it knits. At the same time! Isn't that a-MEOW-zing? Silly enough, the more cat puns you tell it, the more beautiful the quilt it knits will be! Everyone should have a Knitten.

Don't worry if you're allergic to cats! Just feed it ava-CAT-dos and they'll be a sorta not-cat!