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Sadie Long

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Sadie Long's tangled brunette hair brushed the polished wood of the chest. It was bathed in the light from the window, but it was not sunny. There was no heat in the room.

Sadie Long's polished fingers brushed the brunette wood of the chest. The handle felt soft, but it was not cloth. There was no comfort in the room.

The metal on the door handle clanked a little bit when she pulled it softly. The chestnut door crept open, inch by inch, and a secret poured out. Sadie watched it creep out the cemented-in window. It looked like a cat.

There was nothing in the chest. It was empty, like the secret that had poured out of it, now creeping into her head.

The room was full of secret now, it smelled like secret and felt like secret. The chest was a secret, as was the cement bed with the cement mattress and a blanket. The oak door, framed with the black wood frame in the cement door, held a secret. The single half-shattered window in the corner smelled like a secret. It had many.

The ominous chestnut chest, alone in the cold room with Sadie Long, groaned. It groaned in leaky knobs and cold hands. It groaned in snowy days with no heat, and in emptiness and quiet pain. The chest groaned, and Sadie Long's pale fingers brushed the handle once more. It closed. There she grasped the short side of the cold, hard, bed, and pulled herself up. She was a source of light in the room. Something magical and warm in the cold.

Sadie Long turned with a sway and briskly walked to the door. She looks like she's dancing, thought the chest. Sadie Long, replied the bed. The window cracked more, but Sadie Long didn't notice. Her pale fingers turned round the dented metal doorknob. A gust of wind, a cold burst in a colder room, blew through the open doorframe.

Sadie Long took a step out of the door. There was a flash of light, and all that was left was a tangled strand of brunette hair.





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