NaPoWriMo: Day twelve

When he was younger

About 6

He ran round the back of his house

Opened up the light blue shed at the back

Stepped lightly around the spider webs and bags of wood.

In here he was myth

Something magical and rare

He let himself grow and shrink with his breathing in the dim light

He took the chest off the top shelf

The small one made of hard wood and semi rusted metal

Taking the key from around his neck he opened it like he did every day

This was his ritual

To stare at it

But today would be his last look

He shut everything quickly

Ran all the way to the forest

Amongst the trees he hid it

Buried his chest deep into the black mud

Amongst the smell of rain and pine.


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