The sun's rays would burn through the open screened window via the small opening in the sheer panels that hung to the floor. They became a spotlight for the dazzling show of dancing particles of buoyant dust. My mother and father's individual scents lingered on their clothes as they hung in the closet to my right. They hung, not crisp and neat, but rather tossed carelessly onto the thin, frail, metal hangers and shoved into whatever space was available. I remember the hustle of watching both of their tired frames undress after a day of labor and toiling, earning a living and raising two children the best they knew how. Mom's book or magazine lie tossed on the heavy wooden bedside table, folded to keep her place. I remember the wispy scent of "Sweet Honesty", her modest perfume, emanating from the bottle shaped like a dancing lady in billowing skirts. On the wide lopsided mattress, the cool sheets lay in a crumpled heap. They usually still possessed a faint smell of outdoors where they were hung to dry on warm days.
Thoughts of the comfort and safety that sheltered my childish imagination in that room, warm my heart, even after all these years. All of my senses stored the potential energy of their love while standing in the middle of the slanted walled space they called their bedroom...up the carpeted stairs and to the right, facing the front of the old, run down house on a quiet street. My loft of stashed memories and security...that room...
YOUR ASSIGNMENT:
Think of a room from your past. It can be any type of room at all.
Take a mental picture of that room.
What happened there? What is it like? What is the atmosphere there? What are the smells, the sounds, the sights? How does it feel?
Now reveal that snapshot to your reader.
Take us to that room.
