Time passes, but the clock does not move. The room is laden with dust and memories.
Books. The room is swamped with them. Books on every subject. But mostly on mathematics and on flowers. And also polar travel. "Those books belonged to someone", she said. " Some day I'll tell you about him." Once, as a twelve year-old, rummaging in a box-room, you found a cardboard box of maps. The maps were predominantly blue and white. "Those were his", she said. " One day they will be yours. He made a long terrible journey. You will learn all about it one day. But you must wait. You can have them when you are grown up. You will understand then. He was a fine man."
But no detail. No explanation. There was a chest in the box-room but you couldn't open it because it was locked. You asked her about it. "Wait," she said, "you will see into it one day."
KITCHEN | BEDROOM | LOFT | WHAT_NEXT