Christopher Robin’s Short Story Essay

“What do you want to do today, Christopher Robin? ” I asked my son. “We have not been to the zoo in a long time, so can we go see Pooh and Winnie? ” he answered. “Sure,” I replied. Ever since my son was little he loved going to the zoo; he loved seeing all of the different kinds of animals. He had two favorite animals, a swan named Pooh and a bear named Winnie. Whenever we went to the zoo I let him go up to Winnie and feed her, because I knew how much he loved her. So, one day, I bought him a little stuffed bear.

Christopher Robin named the bear Winnie the Pooh after his two favorite zoo animals. My husband, A. A. Milne, and I noticed that he was getting tired of just one stuffed animal, so we bought him a donkey, a pig, a rabbit, a kangaroo and a joey, an owl, and a tiger. Christopher Robin was elated when we showed him all of the animals, and he immediately started to play with them. “Thank you so much for the toys,” he said, “I cannot wait to add them into my stories! ” “What stories? ” his father asked.

I have been writing stories about Winnie the Pooh and me having fun adventures in the forest, and now I have a bunch more friends to write about! ” he exclaimed. “Can we see your stories, son? ” I asked. “Okay,” he said. My husband and I read all of his stories, and we were amazed. His stories were well-written and he even drew pictures to go along with every page. My husband had a brilliant idea to sell his stories to a local bookstore. The people at the bookstore got back to us in a week and they wanted to publish all seven of his stories.

We were paid thousands of dollars, and we wanted more. “When will you make more stories, Christopher Robin? ” I asked him one day. “Never! Everyone at school bullies me because I am Christopher Robin in the books. I wish that you never sold my stories! ” He screamed. When he said that I was shocked. I was just getting used to living in luxury, and I was not going back. I got out paper, a pencil, and a bunch of crayons, and I started to write. I was determined to finish five more Winnie the Pooh books. I sold them to the bookstore, and I got more money, but my husband took it away from me. This money is not for you, Daphne. It was my idea, so it is my money,” he said to me. “That is not true! I helped make the idea, and I wrote more stories! I deserve at least of the money! ” I retorted. “No, Daphne, I am taking all of it,” he answered calmly.

I was furious. I was half of the idea, so I deserved half of the money. I was so angry that I started to plot against my husband. Years later, I met a man named Walt Disney at the store, and we started to talk about Winnie the Pooh. “Would you be willing to sell me the rights to Winnie the Pooh? Walt asked me. “I would be fine, but my husband wants to keep it for himself,” I answered. “Well, I could give you one million dollars for the rights,” he replied. “I will do it,” I answered immediately. When I got home, I started to think of ways to sell the rights to Walt Disney. I soon realized that I had to somehow get rid of my husband. I knew that I had to do it soon and Christopher Robin had to be out of the house. When my husband came into the kitchen for dinner I served him a bowl of “special” soup. He ate the soup and died instantly.

I called the police and made up a fake story, and then I got a hold of Walt Disney. “I am ready to sell the rights, Walt. We should get our lawyers together to write up a contract,” I said to him over the phone. “Excellent,” he exclaimed, “I take it your husband came around? ” “I brought it up over dinner and he was dying to make a deal,” I briefly explained. The next day the contract was ready to be signed. The mother in me thought to double-check with Christopher Robin, but the businesswoman in me knew that was a waste of time.

It all went downhill from there. My relationship with my son quickly ended after I signed the contract, because I didn’t give him any money. “Mother, I never knew you could be so cruel. I thought you were the greatest person ever when you bought me that stupid stuffed bear, how could I have been so wrong? ” the little brat said to me. I refused to ever talk to him again. Years later, as I lay dying, I reflected on that conversation, and I shook my head in amazement. I had made my son famous. I had given him everything. What else could he want from me?