**
I saw the stiff poses of my most treasured toys, lying in the shadows. They had wooden arms, legs and heads, uniforms of embroidered cloth, bodies of fur and flesh. Time and play had ruined most of them. Staring back at me were empty eye sockets and black, glassy optics. Tufts of stuffing peeked through worn torsos. Only one of them moved: Gambol, my clown. He stood out with his red hair, whitened skin, blue diamonds stitched over his eyes, and a broad, red smile tattooed upon his face. He rocked back and forth on his sutured haunches, the bells on his harlequin's uniform ringing gently as he scratched at the brass flesh-plug behind his ear. His voice was boyish, despite his adult size.
"Ruddie go?"
"Ruddie go," I said in our childlike pidgin.
**