The cream of the crop of gummy bear stories is here! Throughout the next 10 days we’ll be announcing 8 winners for our Gummy Bear Writing Competition.
Remembering the rules of our competition, we see that some of these stories break the 500-word limit. Why are they winning, then?
We felt that these stories needed to be heard. And having a word limit rule them out of contemption seemed inhumane to us. We want people who are genuine, while also being entertaining. People not afraid to get out there and tell their story.
Some of these stories have been called “Rule-breakers” by the judges. You’ll be seeing some more of these rule-breaking stories in future compilations.
With love: Scary Kid, K-Money, Puglord, SmolWhale.
Chevy Clyde, The Patriot Bear by @sonofaquiles
Say one thing about Chevy Clyde, say he was a master of camouflage.
He stood in the back of the meeting hall, hidden between two ferns. No one could see him. While the extremists went on with their blasphemous talk, he waited for his moment to arrive. It would come. Oh, it would come.
People occasionally shot strange looks in his direction. He knew he should have picked the palms on the other side of the room. Stupid, stupid. Everyone knows ferns are out of season. No matter. They still could not see him.
He had heard about this meeting in passing. A quiet conversation he wasn’t meant to hear, but once he had, it had changed everything. He wasn’t sure what they wanted with his appendages. Sickos. And he didn’t care, he would put a stop to it for all bears everywhere.
The more and more he heard, the more disgusting it got. They wanted to do searches to find out exactly what a bear has been doing with his appendages; they proposed limiting the appendages of bears everywhere, and, and, get this, giving them to teachers. What could a teacher possibly want with a bear’s appendages.
And then the moment arrived.
As soon as he heard them say they just wanted to take them all away. He had had enough. He burst out from cover. Striding to the middle of the room. Inhaled deep and let out a ferocious roar.
“YOU WILL NEVER TAKE AWAY OUR RIGHT TO BEAR ARMS!”
Mr. No Name by @mariamswithyou
Mr. No Name was born like this. Born into the Obsidian den, Mr. No Name was often feared for his flaming hot hair. He would often put some pink color on his body to look more approachable, but nothing worked.
People thought he was dangerous, but in actuality, his hair was made of a translucent fire that was not harmful to other bears. But because he was so different, other bears ostracized him.
“Ahhhh… get away from us!” “Don’t you know you’re dangerous!” the other kids remarked.
He tried water, he tried ice, he tried to explain—but nothing worked.
Then one day, a commercial for a new snack came into the market: Flamin’ Hot Cheetos. People loved them, and it was the coolest snack to bring to school.
And the mascot? A tiger with fire blazing on its head.
Mr. No Name realized that it’s what you believe that ultimately comes true. People can either get used to it, or get out.
Vladimir Bear, A Life at War. by @kangjin895
The door opens. A beaten and weary old bear called Vladimir wanders into the warmth of the Candy-Jade Den. He is covered head to toe in bruises, fresh blood dripping from the gaping wounds to his body. He shuffles slowly up to the bar, each step taking tremendous effort and the fullness of the pain shown across his face. Once seated he orders a tall glass of milk. The den falls silent, all eyes on him as he starts to regal the other bears with the horrific details of how he came about his injuries. Tales of violence, loss, fear, comrades lost along the way in the senseless chaos of it all, and how he has flashbacks and still hears the voices calling to him in the cold darkness of the night.
On the last sip he pushes back his seat and rises slowly, without a single glance at the stunned faces around him, he quietly limps away. A young bear turns to a den elder and asks, “was he a soldier in the cotton candy wars”. The elder ponders silently for a moment as he watches Vladimir leave the den, a sorrowful and sympathetic expression flashes over his face, betraying it’s usual stoic appearance. “No, his is a much worse fate, for his war never ends. He has spent his life working in the Ember Volcano little cub’s daycare center.”
The Story of Dimmy, a Bear Living in a Two-Dimensional World by @jameschfan
The year is 1010 and Dimmy Bear just can’t quite get it right. Ever since he was molded along with his 9,599 siblings, he knew he was different. Or at least, that’s what everybody else said.
At first, he figured it was just part of gumming up until he noticed that everything around him also just looked different. In gym class, he could never catch the ball properly. In animal studies, the pink flamingo did not look pink to him. In chef gummy class, he could never pick the white apron.
Over time, everything started to even feel different. Dimmy started to spiral into a pool of self-doubt. Why am I this way? Why is there nobody else like me? Who am I?
One day while waiting to cross the Happyland Expressway, as gummy cars whizzed past him, Dimmy was lost in thought. He just needed to get to the park where he read about a gathering of bears that also saw the world differently. Maybe he could find answers to all of his questions.
Lost in thought and head hung down low, he started to cross the expressway when he thought the light turned red. SCREEEECH PLOOOOSH. A Gumrari Enzo flattens Dimmy. He was never great at reading traffic lights.
“Am I dead? Who are these bears? Why does it hurt so much?” raced through his mind when he felt his body being lifted to the side of the road. The alcohol being used to treat his wounds felt like scorching lava entering his body, the bandages wrapping him up felt like sandpaper, the pain was unbearable. He wanted nothing more but to leave this Happyland world behind as his body was being moved once again.
At what felt like was going to be his last breath, he ushered the strength to take one last look and bid adieu to this cruel, two-dimensional world he thought he lived in. As he opened his eyes, bright white light filled his vision. For the first time in his life, he saw clearly. He saw 301 other bears standing in the park wearing blue-red 3D-glasses waving at him. He found his gummies.
Blackjack, The Big Bad Phantom by @BossPagma
Sunny Spalding’s clan was eradicated by the Gummybear Snow Coat Supremacists, leaving him as the only living member of their family. With nowhere to go and was running for his life almost everyday, he wandered from town to town. One day, Sunny was too hungry (as he hadn’t eaten for days) and tried to steal bread from a street vendor. With poor stealing skills, he was eventually caught and brought to a juvenile jail. There he met Herbert Broussard, a young offender who got jailed for killing a drunk bear. Herbert has been in jail for months and was actually trying to plot an escape plan. When asked by Sunny as to what he would do once he breaks out, Herbert smirks and tells young Sunny that he will join his uncle’s gang.
Eventually, Sunny and Herbert managed to escape. In a few days, they bumped into a gang known as the “Molasses”. Sunny spends the rest of his life with the group in which he treated as his own family, and grows up to be a big, fearless bodyguard of Richard Broussard, the Molasses Gang’s Leader.
He got the label, “The Big Bad Phantom, Blackjack” as he was very good at stealth (especially at night). Who wouldn’t want to have a BIG fearless bear for a bodyguard?
Blackjack then goes wherever Richard Broussard goes without being seen by their rivals or whoever tries to confront and deceive the Gang Leader. Little did they know, the Big Bad Phantom was just around to give them surprise attacks once they tried to do anything funny.
Dande, of the Bubblegum Den by @_lukedogwalker
I’ll never stop crying. This teardrop has turned from sadness and mourning to pure joy and triumph. Forged by adversity, for which I am grateful, my Bubblegum skin may be tattered and patched up but I’ve learned to wear it proudly. This beanie keeps me warm out here on the road, but it’s the memory, this tattoo for mom, which really keeps me going.
My name is Dande, of the Bubblegum Den. You see, my mother was in love with a Diamond. A Diamond Den with paper hands, he left her just before I was born and would have nothing to do with his lowly Bubblegum son. My mother raised me despite this. I wonder to this day how she did what she did. She worked the bubblegum fields day in and day out to provide for me, all by herself and would have no hand outs. We had almost nothing, and somehow, she made me feel like we had Everything. We were so rich, her and I. She taught me how to work hard and how to play even harder! She once saved up a week’s salary to buy my first skateboard! Then she taught me how to stitch myself up when I came home with a slew of scrapes and scratches. She was loved by all and even with what little we had for ourselves, she was there to lend a helping hand and fix a warm meal to any bear in need. All while my Diamond dad lived in one of those fancy Flats they have.
Before my mother died, she started talking about my father. She gave me something of a quest for myself and my soul. I don’t know how she was the way she was. How could anyone ever be so gracious? The man left her to raise me herself! I’m sorry friend, this is still difficult to talk about. During the last few days of her life my mother asked me to travel to the Diamond Den. She asked me to forgive my father for leaving us. She said the resentment I carry is only hurting me. She said forgiveness will not excuse my father what he did, but will free me from the bondage of my own hatred.
Can you believe it?! Well, I’m sure you can, being a Rainbow and all. I hope that doesn’t sound too judgemental, I just mean, well, you Rainbows love everybody don’t you?
It took me a long time after she died to make this decision. I feel like I’m ready. Like I said earlier, this teardrop is pure joy and triumph, from here on out!
You never did say, why are you traveling to the Diamond Den? You’re a great listener. I’ve got it! We can travel together, you know, like friends! Do you know when this darn Honey Bus will arrive? Those Honey Den bears love to take their sweet time, don’t they?
Bear Doe by @Benz0official
Hi, my name is, well, not slim shady but I want to keep it anonymous as this is a really rough tale for me to tell. Let’s go with “Bear Doe”.
I’ve been through a lot, hell and back you might say, (hence the devil horns, I’ve tried to get rid of them but, well, Happyland said it made me more “relatable” so here we are, still present, still with horns.)
Anyway, this is my 6th time in crisis, tried to end it all for many reasons. One because I seem to fail at everything. Apparently failed at pushing the claw too because here I am, surrounded by psychiatrist bears with clipboards and pens, lab coats and meds. Really liked the pens, so I took one for safe keeping.
I don’t want to take the meds they want to prescribe me, “suicidal tendencies” they said, but I stated I just want someone to care as I have a tendency to hurt. My neck hurts, still hurt from my attempt. My heart is aching, broken-hearted from the past. Everybody says I’m “over dramatic,” dismissing my symptoms of major depression and pain that I cannot fix. The psychiatrist bears heard that, tilted back my head, tossed pills into my mouth and down my throat.
Numb. Nothing. Is this real? Am I living? Did they cure me? Why don’t I feel anything? Must’ve worked, Pain, Anxiety, all gone, but possibility of happiness? Joy? Also gone. “This is normal!” they shouted angrily, while tilting my head back for another dose. I don’t feel so good, mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.
Third day on crisis, drugged out of my bearish mind, they tilt my head back for another dose. This time, I swing out of the chair, push the bears on their back and get the hell out of there. As I’m dizzy, dazed, and struggling to keep balance, I continue walking through the doors of the exit, “locked!” I gasped, “the doors are locked!” then I remembered, the psychiatrist bears with clipboards and pens. I still had a pen. “Here it is!”, I shouted. It fits perfectly in the keyhole, and as the bears are chasing me, I twisted and turned the pen 9 times till I heard a click. Managed to bust out. As I’m running off into the distance, pulling the chains off of my body, I throw out the meds out of my system and repress the traumatic experience Id just had, I can feel myself becoming…. my story isn’t over, part 2 coming soon!
Freedom: The “Fallen” Angel by @jediraelians
Freedom, he calls himself, a name that has never meant to be.
From young, he was mocked by friends and neighbors for being different. So different that none of them can understand his thinking, his language, his expression nor his needs. To them, he is like an alien, a devil, a thing that is out of this world.
His thinking, his ideas, his way of life, has never synergized with them, not even once. He is seen as a weirdo who interprets the world in a language that no one can understand.
From then onwards, he started to stay away from humans. He began to stay silent and stopped interacting with his friends and neighbors. Even to his closest kin. He keeps everything to himself and keeps quiet most of the time. He felt like he was being tied down by a huge chain. Everything he did seems to be wrong. He started to have recurring nightmares, waking up in the night trying to catch his breath. He feels suffocated.
He started to be reserved and less outgoing. Happiness is a word that doesn’t exist in his dictionary anymore.
As he keeps silent most of the time, his friends started to make use of him. Whenever something is wrong, he will be accused and blamed, like knife stabbing into his heart. He takes and keeps all the ill-treatments to himself, even when his heart is bleeding.
“Why am i here?,” he asked himself. “Why did i come into this world?,” he questioned while looking up into the sky with tears. He feels hopeless… He feels hollow… He can only see darkness as he shivers… Time seems to stop… His world stopped turning…
As he laid down in dazed, a gentle voice came by, “Son, are you alright?” He sit up and see a glimpse of light in front of him. He felt warmth for the first time, a feeling that has long forgotten. It is his mum, she died in an accident while he was at the age of four. She hugged him in her arms, cuddling him like the early days where she put him to sleep. “Son, you gotta be strong, very very strong,” she said.