You finally got home, albeit soaking wet and panting from running through the storm, you were home. The thunder dulls to a soft, steady drum as the door closes behind you with a soft click. You peel off your jacket and hang it on the hook. A familiar soft hum comes from the fridge and a barely audible purr from the living room. Water pools on the mat beneath your feet as you pull off your boots and set them beside the door. With just one deep breath in you feel at home again as the warm smell of pine and your wood stove fill your senses. Nostalgia washes over you as you remember coming home to a full house and chaos.
You open the stove and place a few pieces of wood in, each setting into place with a quiet clunk. You think of the times where this was something you were quite afraid to do on your own and you’d bother a family member to do it for you. You can’t do that anymore so you strike a match and throw it in, closing the stove and heating a kettle on top. An unidentifiable ball of fur presses up against your leg and cries out for attention. Running your fingers through the soft fur seems to calm both you and the small beast as a low rumble emits from their throat and your breathing slows to its usual pace.
The kettle whistles and scares the small thing away, it hides behind the couch before peeking out and offering a small tilt of the head as you fill a cup with the kettle’s contents. Color bleeds into the water as you place a tea bag in and settle onto the couch. A weight falls upon your lap as the beast curls up on it, steam rises from your cup and you reach out to grab the book that’s resting quietly on the coffee table. Pages turning is the loudest yet quietest sound for quite a while as you finally relax from a long day. As you read, the thunder outside grows quieter and quieter, your focus fades into a peaceful creativity as your eyes grow heavy before closing, and sadly, you lose your page.
You awake to a soft knocking on the front door, the storm has ended and only small drops of rain were left on the windows. The sky is painted with soft yellows blues and pinks, storm clouds far in the distance. The book you were reading had fallen onto the couch beside you but there were no pages attached to the bindings anymore, the thread fell loose and no trace was left. You look outside the window at the distant storm clouds and realize you aren’t actually in the city anymore, the landscape has changed and you now seem to be in a small village with large fields and long rows of crops.
You stand up to get the door and the ball of fur that was sleeping on your lap wakes with a jump. You feel the warmth of its tiny body lift off your lap as it rises from its position and hops off. The tiny beast follows you, rubbing itself against your leg and almost tripping you as you walk.