About a toy box who's paint is beginning to chip off in flakes landing on a dusty wooden floor. This is his story...
The floorboards groaned as Mary took the last box out of the room, leaving a rather empty and lonesome place for dust to gather.
Today was a sad day for me...
I've been here for the whole of Mary's life. Her grandparents gave me to her, and I watched her grow up. I got to see her being raised into small child--the innocence in which she thrived in. Then, into a defiant teenager--so determined to be completely the opposite of what her parents wanted her to be, and then into a young woman--subdued and compassionate, reasonable and loyal.
I know Mary like she might know her own home--flawlessly.
I've always held a special connection with Mary. To start off, I was her favorite colors-- dark teal and copper. I've held everything that she ever thought to be significant through out her childhood, from a favorite doll, to an old ragged, and deteriorating teddy bear. I've hidden secret treasures for her, love notes and photos. I've even held onto her diary for her, filled to the page with her beautiful handwriting, and her many thoughts.
Oh, Mary had so many thoughts. She was a real thinker. I used to listen to her think aloud at night. She had such deep thoughts, as deep as the oceans. As you delve further into her mind, the pressure increased, and the light died away--leaving nothing but a heavy blackness.
I've seen many children grow up, many brilliant minds blooming. But none were quite the same as Mary's.