Andrea Robinson English 2 period 3 12/10/2007
Where Everything Melts
Creeping up 26 squeaking mahogany steps there was a door. Clad in Smashing Pumpkin posters, yellow edges peeling away from dried and cracking tape. The door stood tall but with the slightest weakness; its upper hinges were missing two screws on the outside, thus leaning to the right at a slight angle. There was an ominous feeling about it, as if at any moment it could rip from the frame and go tumbling down the stairs just to end up in splintered, wooden shards.
To the left and the right of the door were old oak bookcases, almost matching the stairs but not exactly. They were overflowing with old dusty trophies and plaques, ignored and forgotten for years. A young boy's shoe lay beside one of the small fallen trophies. Opening the door, oh so carefully as to not put any more strain on the remaining hinges, there was a large pillow in the middle of the room.
Worn and torn in some places from being used and abused. The pillow was alone in the room apart from a small trunk off to the side near a back window.
The room was dark and dusty, having been abandoned long before but it still had that hint of mystery that it would always have. There was one wall; the rest of the semicircular room was made of windows looking out into the horizon from the upper story of a personal observatory. The sun was falling, casting a dim purple light over the land, it was beautiful. Looking off to the left, from the middle of the room, one could see miles and miles of pastures just rolling into the east but if they were to turn one-hundred-eighty degrees and look to...