Madeleine Hull 11-S

Mrs. Munday

The Attic

My task had been set and so with trepidation, I gingerly climbed the ladder that led to the attic. I balanced on the top rung of the ladder and flung open the trap door. The door crashed against the diirt blackened floorboards loudly. The musty smell hit me, as a flurry of the dust cascaded onto my head. I  carefully levered myself up onto the floor above me.

 I looked around the peculiar room to see beckoning shadows on the walls, as daylight tried to filter through a worn curtain, which graced the solitary window in the room.  I stumbled forwards in the half-light, my outstretched hands grabbing a low beam to steady myself.  The wood felt gritty and cold beneath my fingers and I looked at my hands, which were now blanketed in grime.

 I walked carefully to the end of the large attic room, and drew back the faded red velvet curtain, which stretched across the tiny window. The light violated the darkness, and dispelled the gloom.  The room was now really quite entrancing, the task of cleaning the room, which I had initially perceived to be a horrible chore, had now turned into a beautiful privilege. I gazed at the room that was cluttered with memorabilia of a bygone era.

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 Under the window stood an oval, walnut coffee table. On its dusty and worn surface stood several ornaments.  I bent down and carefully picked up a grey figurine. I blew on it and the dust flew away.  It was a white porcelain statuette that I now held; it was a delicate figurine of a ballet dancer. The ballerina was with her slender raised arms stood on points and her beauty contrasted with her shabby surroundings.  I gently and with reluctance placed her back on the table

 I looked over the walls. They were painted yellow once, but now they were ...

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