Room.

The cold breeze coming from the window woke me abruptly from my daydream. I stared out the window confused for a moment as to were I was. The sight of the snow covered oak trees in the garden brought my memory back. They were bathed in the light of the red evening sun and reminded me of a time long ago when my father spent most of the afternoon trying to assemble a swing on the nearest branch. He never had been a handy man. I quickly shook these thoughts from my mind, I did not like to think of my father, and turned back to the room I was in. It was my room, the room from my childhood. The pale pink walls were as familiar to me as my own face. This had been my room through childhood and my hormone crazed teenage years. It was this room I had come to when I wanted solace from the world outside. It was here that the horrible things of my childhood had happened. But all of my things were gone. My white wooden bed with its soft green duvet had been removed; my posters of puppies and the rock bands of my teenage years had been taken down. The bookcases, which had contained my well-read paperback novels, now contained nothing but dust and a single solitary spider spinning its web in a corner. This would not be my room for much longer. My father had not left me my childhood home in his will. I hadn’t expected him to nor did I want it. I longed to forget this room and the horrors that had happened within. It would no longer be my home so maybe this room would cease to be mine and I could finally push it away from my thoughts. This room would stop haunting my dreams and would not invade my thoughts during my waking hours. Maybe now I could finally let go.