My imagination has always been quite intense. As a child, my imagination was my savior. It has always helped me during moments of fear when I no longer knew how to handle situations. In my imagination, I can bend reality into something bearable, something I can find humor in. My imagination has always been my friend and my helper. The downside is that at some point in my life, I started struggling to distinguish between the two.
There has never been a moment in my life when I was afraid of the monster under my bed. I could spend hours talking to that monster.
"What are you afraid of? How does it feel under the bed? Do you have enough space there?", those were the questions I liked to ask them. What does it feel like to be a monster under a bed? I have always found them fascinating.
My childhood bedroom was decorated just like the rest of our parental home. Green floral wallpaper covered the walls. The two windows, where the streetlights could sneak into the room, were adorned with matching green curtains. Not that the curtains could actually close, they were just decorative, held neatly together by a large ribbon fixed over a brass knob in the wall. I still find the idea of curtains without any practical use strange. But they completed the room. Between the two windows hung a Pierrot mask, beautiful white, glossy porcelain with fine black lines forming its face. One line was filled with a black tear, and between the two windows, it was the room’s centerpiece.
It was also the mask I saw the most. From every corner of the room, the mask was visible. There was nowhere to hide without Pierrot watching. Even at night, when the streetlight seeped into the room, Pierrot remained visible. I never felt afraid of it, it was the room’s silent observer. Perhaps, in a way, I even found it comforting that it watched over everything happening in my room.
When the streetlight crept inside, the room was at its most beautiful. It made the flowers on the wallpaper seem to dance, swaying gently like summer blossoms in a soft breeze. The pale green curtains, faintly illuminated, reminded me of spring grass, soft green and bathed in partial shade. When I sat in the corner of the room, I could see the beams of light entering, touching the wallpaper more intensely at the top and losing strength as they descended, leaving only a gentle glow on my bed. The best part of the room was the soft green, medium-pile carpet that covered the floor, making the entire space feel like a springtime sanctuary.
I probably don’t need to explain that I adored this room, bathed in the colors of the season in which my birthday falls. I think that’s also why I loved rabbit plushies so much. My bed was filled with them, an orange one, a black one, a brown one. A whole collection, carefully arranged in their proper places so that everything remained neat. I always talked to my stuffed animals, each with their own name, but my favorite was Piet Hein. His name reflected the bond between my mother and me, I think. I spoke well enough, and yet, according to her, his name was Piet Rabbit! But suddenly, I couldn’t say that name anymore, and the only thing I could get out was Piet Hein. I knew she was looking at me strangely, her tired, angry glare saying enough.
I had my conversations with my stuffed animals inside my wardrobe, the only truly dark corner of the room. The beams of light didn’t reach there, it was the only part of the room completely shrouded in darkness. Sitting inside, I had a clear view of my bed, where the soft light played across the blankets. One side had the windows, the other had the bedroom door with its brass handle. Even from the wardrobe, I could see Pierrot, and I was sure he approved of the room, especially at night.
I told Piet Hein that I thought Mother was angry because I refused to say his name correctly. I told him how my school day had gone. He told me he still wanted to play a little with the other rabbits in the wardrobe. I sighed and told him, "We’ll go to sleep soon, before someone catches us, because we were supposed to be asleep ages ago."
In the middle of our conversation, a thudding began to rise, like approaching thunder. Each step rumbled louder and louder through the house, and I knew the storm was near. Piet Hein was scared, and I pressed him tightly against me, my back against the wardrobe wall I entered, making myself as small as possible. I slid the wardrobe door slightly more closed, leaving just a sliver to see through.
*This storyline is the following chapter of previous post. So if you are interested in how this story started, you can look it up here.
The first part: https://ecency.com/hive-125125/@nathalie-s/friday-night-the-night-i?referral=nathalie-s
The second part: https://ecency.com/hive-125125/@nathalie-s/friday-night-the-night-i-7d9dfc6649fe6?referral=nathalie-s
Nice writing Nathalie I had a good read
Thank you a lot ❤️ !INDEED !HOPE
Wow!! This looks like a series I have to start from the beginning I guess. Will be meeting you again here soon.
You write very well.Congratulations
Thank you for posting in the Ecency community
Sending you Ecency points ♥️
Thank you ❤️
I'm glad that you made friends with the monsters under the bed, they're quite lovely chaps! Marvelous story, Nathalie! 😁 🙏 💚 ✨ 🤙
!ALIVE
!BBH
!INDEED
!WEIRD
Yes I love the little critters 😉 thanks for the reading and the kind words
You're very welcome, of course! 😁 🙏 💚 ✨ 🤙
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Awesome! I really loved it. 🤓
Thank you !INDEED !HOPE
What a fine imagination!
Thank you 🙏