The paint-chipped windowpane in which car brake lights and street lamps are shown. Each car stopping for the stop light, and then becoming a blur in the distance.
An old oak bookshelf given as a gift from my grandmother. Upon the shelves sit dozens of Beanie Babies and books about animals watching over the room as I lay still.
A picture of my grandmother, mother, and I- three generations of women in a picture, sitting one behind another with smiles plastered on their faces. Underneath the bronze picture frame in cursive writing states “Strength”.
The bedsheets sprawled across my bed, the strings, which are seizing at the ends, waving with each breath that escapes my nostrils.
The ceiling above, which was once a popcorn ceiling, is now flat and pale white.
A framed bible verse hung on the wall, “John 3:16” written neatly at the top. Upon the floral pattern paper, my mother’s writing soon follows:
For God so Loved the world, that
He gave his only begotten son,
That whosoever believes in him,
Shall not Perish
But have Everlasting Life
A book titled “The Christmas Camel” written by my grandfather lay upon the dresser. Mickey Magee is written in big bold letters on the front cover. About the nativity from the perspective of a camel, it was a story that my father would read to me when I couldn’t sleep.
An old Windows 1998 desktop, splattered with smudges and paint, the mouse dangle over the edge of the desk it sits upon.
A binder labeled “SPC” lies on the floor accompanied by colored pencils. Open to the creature that I was studying the night before.
The hat man, standing within the doorway, shadow surrounding, as if to say hello.