The littlest nutcracker was named George. He had no idea how tall he was. He only knew that he was small enough to be attached to a keychain. He wasn’t tall and he wasn’t heavy.
George also had multiple dinks and ditches in his paint from keys bumping and bashing against him. He wasn’t sure what his face looked like, but he knew it must be something bad. His vision in his left eye was patchy with dense cloudy spots. His right eye seemed to okay for now. But he knew it was all a matter of time before that started to degrade as well. His mouth was somehow stuck shut. He’d never be able to crack another nut again.
Yet, he considered himself lucky and blessed. For Matilda, the girl who owned the keychain, was quite sentimental. No matter how bashed up and ruined he became, she would never throw him away. He had special meaning to her. So, even if George went completely blind, she would still keep him. Even if the ring on top of his head detached beyond repair, she would keep him.
Maybe she would keep him in her purse.
Maybe she’d keep him on top of her dresser.
Or near her bed.
But she would never throw him away. He knew that for a solid and very certain fact.
George, the littles nutcracker, was safe.
His future was well-secured.
He would always be with her, hanging from her keychain and being bashed up by her keys.
He could no longer smile, but he was happy. Oh, so happy.