A Short Story
The room was bathed in glorious sunlight. Dust particles bounced through the air, twinkling like fairy dust as the sun hit them. I glanced around the room. My room. In the corner was my comfy old chair. The royal blue had faded. The seat had an imprint, just the same size as me. My patchwork cushion that I made in the third year lay squished at the side of the chair. I ran my hand across the arm – smooth, warm velveteen. How many times had I done that? I was going to miss that old chair.
My eyes strayed towards the cushion. I picked it up and hugged it close. It felt familiar. Should I take it? No it would only remind me of here. Of the place where I belonged. I reluctantly placed it back in the corner of the chair.
I continued my journey around the room. My eyes took in the window. The brilliant white nets blinding my eyes in the sunlight. Outside lay the green grass of my childhood garden. It looked so lush. The rain in the night had refreshed it.