It's so hard to put it all away.
The trunk he was unloading when he was taken from us still sits in the front room. His books are still where he dropped them, only feet from the shelf. His cloak is haphazardly hanging from his favorite chair near the fireplace. We all linger in the doorway. In our silence we can still hear his laugh, the shuffle of his feet, the small thump and the soft stream of swear words as he drops a book on his toe.
But then, sounds we don't want to hear echo into our minds. The evil laugh, the sound of Magic burning through the air, the sharp knock of his watch hitting the floor, hanging from his lifeless arm. Hastily we step out of the doorway, back into the kitchen, talking with an unrealistic vigor to get the haunting sounds out of ears. The talk dies down quickly.
One brave voice reminds us that one day we will have to use that room again, that his stuff will have to be cleaned up. So with a collective shaky breath, we move to the doorway once more, peering over the memory of him.
It's so hard to put it all away.
A/N: Out of Curiousity...please review and tell me who you think died, Who you think is the brave voice, and who do you think is telling the story? All my friends said different things, and I wonder which of you thinks the same way I do...
Bekah
P.S. I own nothing