At least once upon a time, in a mildly important forest, there lived a crude little bear, and, oh, what a bothersome creature he was.  He was a scrawny, scruffy brown thing with honey-gold eyes, and he wore a nose ring to show that he disrespected authority.

One morning, the crude little bear approached a trio of squirrels who were gathering amidst themselves a pile of lustrous acorns.  Without even asking the squirrels if he could partake in their meal, the bear gobbled up every last acorn in just two bites!

“Cruel bear, why have you done this?” lamented one of the squirrels.  “It took ever so long to gather up all those acorns, and now we’ll surely go hungry.”

The bear quite rudely stuck his tongue out.  “Don’t worry, stupid squirrels.  I’ve saved some for you.”  He then upturned his stomach, burying the squirrels in a stream of bilious acorn mash.  “Hahaha!”

The squirrels clawed their way out of the rancid pile of hot sick, retching and puking up their own meager guts, thoroughly wasting the rest of whatever nutrition they might have gotten out of the day.  The little bear simply stuck his tongue out once more, then pranced away.

That afternoon, the bear chanced upon a tree from which hung an impressive beehive.  With an impish grin, he got to climbing the tree, shimmying his way over to the hive.

“Oh, hello, bear!” said one of the bees buzzing around it, for she was a very friendly bee.  “You look like a hungry thing, you do.  We’ve made some excess honey this season.  You’re welcome to it if you need something to fill your belly!”

The crude little bear stuck his tongue out at the bee.  He then swatted mightily at the hive, dislodging it from its branch and sending it crashing to the earth below, whereupon it split in twain.

The bees gasped and buzzed frantically around their home as the bear hopped back down to approach it.  “You needn’t have done that, bear!” said a bee in dismay.  “We would gladly have got the honey for you!”

Then the bear stood up on his hind paws and had a wee all over the hive, so that no one could enjoy the honey, and so that the bees could no longer enjoy not being covered in bear pee.  “You lot can smooch my nuggets,” giggled the bear.  What a nasty little bear.  Still, the bees did not sting him, for they were very friendly bees indeed.

That evening, the little bear found an entrance to a rabbit warren.  Snickering odiously, he squatted over it and unburdened himself of a loose, greasy poo, which slopped right down into the hole.

“Ohhh, ohhh,” came the cry of a small white bunny as she hopped over to the bear, returning just then from her foraging.  “That is my home, wicked bear!  Why would you defile it so?”

The bear burped upon the rabbit, filling her sweet little face with the stench of acorn sick.  As she gagged, the crude little bear snatched her up and used her to wipe his bum, distastefully embrowning the poor creature.  “Hahaha!  Your fur feels pretty nice down there, stupid bunny.”  He tossed her aside and left her mewling in despair as he trotted merrily away.

That night, the bear found himself at the base of an owl’s tree, carving crass images into it with his shoddy little claws.

“Please, little bear,” said the owl from her perch, exasperated.  “Will you kindly do other than this?”

“Suck my butt!” laughed the little bear.  He was then seized by a ferocious coughing fit, which he gleefully aimed at the tree.

“Will you not even cover your mouth?” asked the owl in dismay.

The bear stood up on his hind paws and grasped his head, sticking his stupid little tongue out at the owl while thrusting his unmentionable bear parts in her direction.

“Someone really ought to do something about that bear,” mourned the owl, shaking her head.  “Whoever does would surely be the hero of the forest.”

The little bear awoke the next morning with great excitement, for today was the day his mother had agreed to spend the afternoon with him.  However naughty a bear he was, he loved his mother more than anything else in the whole wide world, even if she did not often get the chance to make time for him, so this was sure to be a most wonderful day.

Of course, there was still a little time for mischief first.

As the bear rolled around in a patch of bramble, making a mess of everything, a grumpy sparrow flew down to take stock of the wreckage.

“You, bear, what is the meaning of this?” asked the sparrow with casual malignance.  “You’re ruining a perfectly adequate, if lackluster, meal.”

The little bear cackled, flinging mud and mushed berry gore at the sparrow, who barely dodged the muck.  “I’ll do whatever I please, nosy bird!  I’m a great big bear, and you’re just small and dumb!”

The sparrow darkened.  “You are, in fact, a crude little bear, small in stature, wits, and class.”

“I’ll show you what’s got class.”  The bear grunted and disentangled himself from the bramble with a messy sneeze.  “It’s my great big butt!”  He turned around and waggled it at the sparrow, who was not impressed in the least.

“Your bottom is trite and ill-refined,” said the sparrow.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew there was sugar in it!” teased the bear.

The sparrow’s eyes widened.  “Sugar, you say?”  Lured by the temptation of sweet, sweet white, he hopped hypnotically up to the bear’s rear end.  Then the trap was sprung, and the crude little bear conducted a monumental flatulence upon the bird.  The sparrow’s feathers rippled dreadfully in the foul wind, and several were fully dislodged by its protracted conclusion.  The bear slapped his paw against the dirt and giggled himself into another coughing spell.

A cloud passed overhead to dim the stage of this unseemly display, and the sparrow vibrated at the frequency birds do when the path of violence is chosen.

“Such a mighty posterior roar could not have come from such a ragged little thing,” the sparrow dismissed.  “There must be a much larger and more formidable bear nearby.”

“No!” shouted the bear with a petulant stomp.  “It was all me; that was my rumble!”

“Hmph.  Then I would see the belly that wrought it.”

The bear turned around and stood up on his hind legs, slapping his stupid little belly with relish, pride, and a paw.  “See?”

The sparrow hopped forward and made a show of inspecting the bear’s gangly, pathetic belly, and then he lanced a sharp peck down the bear’s left femoral artery.

“Ow, stupid bird!”  The bear swatted lazily at the sparrow as he plopped back down to all fours.  “You’re just jealous ‘cause birds don’t even have proper butts!”

The sparrow hopped back a few paces.  “There is no propriety to be had in butts, little bear, and your anatomy is of envy to no one.”

The bear stuck his tongue out at the sparrow.  He made to take a step forward, but felt a great warmth leaking down his leg.  He looked below to see a pool of dark red amassing between his feet.  “Owwwww…  What did you do, stupid bird?”

“I’ve put a stop to your nonsense, you lumpish little nastian,” said the sparrow, fluttering up to a tree stump.

“You’re a mean little bird,” the bear pouted, then began to sulk away.  He felt rather dizzy, however, so he didn’t get very far before sinking down to the earth.  “Ow, it hurts…”

“What hurts, little bear, is abiding a world which sees fit to produce a creature of your ilk.”

The bear gulped for air, feeling his big stupid little bear heart trundling heavily in his chest.  “It was just a joke!   You don’t have to be so cross!”

“It is you who needn’t be so persistently vile, yet every day you remain a feculent encumbrance upon the forest.”

The little bear did not understand all of the sparrow’s words, but felt them as sharply as his beak, gouging canyons into his self-worth.  He also felt an acrimonious throb within his thigh, pulsing out a warm wetness that spread along the fur of his underside, and it was then that the little bear began to cry, for he didn’t want his blood to go away, as he was pretty sure he needed it.

The sparrow rolled his eyes.  “What a grievance it is to know you exist.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Sparrow,” blubbered the bear, wiping at his eyes.  “I didn’t mean to be quite such a bother.  I’m just very lonely…”

“Then you acknowledge your demeanor has been deleterious and agree that comporting yourself with a touch of decency would have been preferable?”

The bear sniffled, nodding eagerly.  “My–my mum is coming round today, and I’ll–I can ask her to teach me some manners.  I’ll not be so crude and awful to the other animals any longer; I promise.”  And he meant it, for no amount of japes could be worth the pain of his ever-present tummy ache spreading throughout the rest of him, nor the icy tendrils of fear now squeezing at his innards.

The sparrow bobbed his head.  “Good.  Then I suppose you’ve learned your lesson.”

A glimmer of great relief sparkled in the little bear’s wet golden eyes.  He regarded the sparrow sweetly, muzzle relaxing into a puffy post-lacrimal smile.  “Will you please fix me, then, Mr. Sparrow?  It hurts ever so much.”  He tried to get to his feet, but found he didn’t have the energy.

The sparrow scoffed.  “Don’t be ridiculous.  A bear cannot simply be made to un-bleed.  This is the end of you.”

The bear’s smile dissolved along with his brief reprieve from mortal terror.  “But…but…”

“But nothing.  Recognizing your misconduct does not preclude you from enduring its consequences.”

The bear’s face twisted up once more as he lolled to his side.  He clutched at his chest, choking and sobbing, for he was, after all, just a little bear – no more than a cub, really – and thought he ought to live a bit longer.

The sparrow huffed in irritation.  “There is nothing to be sad about.  You serve no purpose worthy of preservation, so this outcome is of no detriment to anyone.”

“It’s true,” said the owl, gliding down to the stump beside the sparrow.  “The forest will be a much better place without you.”

“Honestly, we’re looking forward to him not being around,” said a squirrel, leading a few other squirrels over to watch.

“I certainly can’t wait for us all to be rid of him,” added a fox.

“Please…”  The little bear weakly reached out a paw toward someone, anyone, begging for salvation as snot dripped down his nose ring.  “Please help me…  Please, please, please…”  His voice was small and shaky, constrained to a hoarse whispery register.  “I’m sorry…  I’m sorry…  I promise I’ll be a good little bear, I promise…”  Quick, sharp little breaths escaped his tear-soaked muzzle, for his feeble little body was too stupid to know why it wasn’t getting enough oxygen.  “I’ll be good…  I’ll be good…  Please…”

“What a blessing this turn of events is!” came the voice of a buck as he stepped up among the others.

“Ohh, I think this is my favorite thing that’s happened,” squealed a brown and white bunny near the squirrels.

“It’ll be such a relief to not be peed on,” buzzed an excited bee.

The bear curled in on himself as the jovial loathing soaked into his soul, hiding the onslaught of tears with his big dumb paws.  He was so scared and so alone.  His mother would be there any moment, though – she swore she would.  He trembled terribly, cold and aching all over, but he had to hold out a bit longer, just until she came.  All he wanted was to see her one last time.  Even if she couldn’t save him, he wanted her voice to be the last thing he heard, to feel her warmth wrapped around him, holding him tight until the end.

“Just spoke to his mum,” remarked a boar, joining the crowd.  “She said good riddance to bad seed.”

The sparrow held out a wing.  “There, you see?  Much better this way, I think.  You were utterly unloved, and none will be the poorer for your absence.”

The sad little bear moaned softly, gasping and shivering, and a few moments later, his broken little heart gave out.  With a final wheeze, he died as he lived – just an onerous little shit.

“Well, there you have it,” said the sparrow, regarding the other animals knowingly.

“Ought we eat him?” asked the fox.

The owl shook her head.  “No, not worth risking disease.  Best leave him to waste – I’m afraid he’ll be just as pointless a corpse as he was a bear.”

“What now, then?” asked the buck.

The fox’s ears perked up.  “Well, with that crude little bear done away with, I suppose that means our sparrow here is once again the most irksome creature in the forest!”

The sparrow blinked.  “What?”

“Oh, yes!” cheered the bunny.  “He’s a rotter, that one!”

“Just the worst that there is,” agreed the bee.

“I’m the hero of the forest…” muttered the sparrow.

“They don’t make ‘em much more tedious than that bird,” mused the boar.

“He murdered my brother!” laughed the lead squirrel, pointing.

“And mine!” a frog chimed in.

“What a heinous little flapper!” chortled a badger.

The sparrow puffed up in indignation and pecked the forest, then flew off, fed up with another tiresome day.

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Bene scribete.