A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Guest

A Writer’s Book of Days Exercise: Guest

It was the sort of guest room that shouted how few guests the hosts had. Even if there had been blankets and sheets on the bed, it was an old metal frame that had been painted about three different colours if the peeling sections were showing all of them.

The mattress looked newer than the metal, but it still might have been left-over from before Liev and Tomas shacked up. There was a dresser in the corner that might have been faux-plas, might have been wood, might even have been one of the weird in-between materials. That made it younger than the bed but older than the mattress, and the night table matched it, making them the only things in the room that looked like a set.

There was a plush chair over in the corner that had to be covered in fake leather, but D still walked over to rub the surface. It felt the same as the snaps, at least the ones from under. There were tears in the corner, claw marks. D didn’t know which of them had ever had a cat. Didn’t know much of anything, really, and certainly not enough to be the only guest the room had likely ever seen.

But there was nowhere else to go.

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