Write. Write, they say. As if it is that easy. These monkeys, these characters, they mean the world to me. My heart died with them. My soul. I yearn for happiness after their deaths, yet no light shines into my empty cavern chest.

I sit in my chair, in this empty barren kitchen, my heart weighed down by the fact that they have left this world. I yearn to follow them.

Then—

Out of the darkness, out of the despair, appears a pink nosed raccoon.

He looks at me, claw outstretched, beckoning me to his side, and something inside me lightens. Unravels, come undone, and I feel happy. I feel at peace. Even with the loss of my two best friends, I feel hopeful. For the first time in years.

I take his claw in mine, and I walk, with a bowl of Bolognese, into the sunset.