[COLUMN] person in da dark room

          It is a cold winter evening in a suburban area. An old, lonely man sits on his favorite, brown couch, sinking comfortably into it while in front of a warm, crackling fire. With nothing on his mind whatsoever, the man decides to venture into his dark, ominous attic, which has been unattended for decades.

          The old man slowly, stands up using his wobbly, pale legs. He then begins to walk up the stairs toward the attic string. The tightly wound string attached to the ceiling of the narrow hallways hung down about a foot, with a small tag attached to the bottom labeled "Attic". The old man tiptoes with his aging feet, which are comfortable placed inside a soft and warm pair of loafers, and grabs the tag to pull down. THUMP. The wooden, but sturdy staircase drops and lengthens onto the floor. He walks up the path guided by steps and enters a completely dark room. 

          His arm wails around, searching for the metal string which turns on the light. After several seconds, the man feels an odd shape hanging around his head. Thinking the object is the pull-switch for the light, he grabs  it intensely and the object becomes flat, gushing some sort of odd liquid onto his fingers. It was a spider. He begins to feel a small growing fear of the darkness, and frustration of not being able to find the string. Searching further into the darkness, and becoming closer to the middle, a small figure hanging from the ceiling taps his head. He reaches for the object, this time, moving his saggy, pale arm above the figure for assurance that it is not another spider. The man hears a small tingling sound and realizes that the figure was in fact, a pulley for the lightbulb. He pulls the figure, attempting to turn on the light. Again and again he pulls, harder as each one progresses, frustrating himself. The man sighs deeply in frustration, figuring out that the old, old light bulb had popped ages ago. Without the light, he begins to try to find the object he so longs for. Crawling around to assure safety, the man moves through the dusty and cold floors. As he crawls, the floorboards constantly squeak, and the dampness of the floor wet his silk pajamas. At the brink of becoming hopeless, he feels something smooth, but dense. At the corner of the attic, he reaches some old cardboard boxes. The boxes were full of random, but meaningful objects to the man. He feels around the somewhat damp boxes, trying to find the certain one of which he is so frantically searching for. Feeling around with his wrinkly hands, he first feels through the box closest to himself. The box contained many different items like yarn and knitting materials. These materials were possessions of his once-living bride, who had ceased to live sometime recently. He grabbed the materials, thought of his beloved bride, and brought them closer to himself, hugging them close to his chest. As he held these objects, he felt sadness, teardrops began to drip down from his baggy eyes and a tightness of his stomach overtook him. However, he thought to himself, "She is in a better place..." and continued to search. 
          Further down in the pile of boxes and memories, he finally finds the one he is searching for. A box full of wooden, home-made frames. He remembers the carved, unique patterns on the frames which were made for specific pictures, categorized. The old man's sad tears, become tears of joy. Reminiscing about his childhood, his children's childhood with him, and his moments with his wife contained in the special frames he had made himself in his own workshop, carving details with meaning. He sits there, crossing his leg, while holding the many frames in between him. The man brings his right hand to his face, wiping his tears onto them and begins to grin. His objective had been accomplished. The man goes down, crawling back the way he had come, with his knees, hands, and feet somewhat wet. With the boxes, he sinks back into his couch, laying back, and reminiscing. Loving his dear memories, he slowly falls asleep, frames lying atop of him, smiling, never regretting his choices.

THE END. iwasbored.