As I pushed the old rickety wooden door, its pivots screamed as if it was about to break apart. The musty smell of mould wafted around the room which was built fully from that group of dark oak trees.
The light switch screw was teetering off the wall and the floors creaked. One lonely bulb was hanging on the ceiling. There was a casement that let the sun beam enter and show the amount of dust particles floating and eating up the room. Cobwebs tangled and toiled around the corners hiding the crusty edges.
The air around felt like it had travelled all the way from the South pole. It gave me shivers but due to the old packed up and enclosed boxes covered in grey just like how snow covers the ramshackled houses filled with memories of the past in old Quebec, a little warmth from inside reassured me.
On the corner an antique box caught my eye. It consisted of two parts binded by a rotten pivot. Ruby red roses and its castleton stem binded with thorns were reaching for the flare from below. Three little snowy kittens were painted on the sides. On the edge of each part had intricate crown moulding. An elegant flower was painted on top. Majority of it was thulian pink and the top was pure milky white. It was around the size of a large caboodle.
As I opened the box, it creaked a gush of old memories.
There was a little bunny that had gone from macaroon cream to bone white. The right ear had a little tear and the neck felt empty just by looking at it. Its eyes were made of matte black buttons as dark as the black hole were stitched in and stuck as it lasted all these years. What was then rosy pink paws was now in the same shade as freshly cooked salmon with a bit of soy sauce.
There was also a little shiny gold cap that could catch any human orb, the cap had brought back some sand that stuck on the corner of that little thing.
The human eyes could not help but glancing at the next object, an old photograph, showing a little girl staring deeply at the camera looking confused. Her hair was pitch black and tied up pigtail style. The strands were fluffy and thick. The dress was specially and custom made for her. It had puffy shoulders made of lace and the best pink fabric that flowed down smoothly. Her boots were pearly white and matched perfectly.
I closed my eyes as I closed the dusty lid of the thulian box gently. It creaked once more but this time, it sounded like a lullaby to me.
Love pink, love finding old stuff in pretty boxes. Great story!
I like how u described the box pink is a great color
cutie patootie pink box!
I really enjoyed the short story, amazing descriptions
Dear Editor,
I have read the article entitled “Little Thulian Pink Box” by Finn Emily Jam. I found this story incredibly engaging. The writer left absolutely nothing undescribed– everything was written so beautifully, from the box’s descriptions and the lingering energy in the room, atmosphere, and even sensations.
The writer is an amazing talent and I would love to see more works from them.
Dear Editor, I have read the article titled “Little Thulian Pink Box” by Finn Emily Jam.And I just want to express my opinions………………Honestly………………To be honest…………….l…………………am mesmerized with the writing and ur selection of words.I like how you describe everything and the atmosphere written along the story.The aesthetics,the description,the atmosphere is honestly written elegantly and beautifully.I love these type of descriptive stories and would love to read more of these.
Dear Editor,
I have read the article entitled “Little Thulian Pink Box” by Finn Emily Jam. This story was very entertaining and full of descriptive words which could really engage you into the story. I hope to see more stories like these.
nice
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