I slept in a room with muted purple walls and a beige carpet. Nine times out of ten the white framed bed was unmade. Unmade meaning that a black and white down comforter slumped to the floor from the rush of the morning marathon. In the mornings, when the light made the walls appear gray, long after I had left for school, a lethargic dog may have found his way at the head of the bed. Disturbing only a corner of the sheet with his heavy breathing.

Next to the bed and the dog was a nightstand, and on top of the nightstand was a digital clock, and on top of that were several types of currencies. Also upon this nightstand were books using other books as book marks. In the belly of the nightstand was several packages of oreos, hobnobs, kit kats, lolli-pops, maltesers, and chocolate. You might think that this would make the room smell like some small scale version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, but, in fact, the room smelt like laundry detergent mixed with the redolent smell of book.

There were more books than the ones beside my bed, as there was shelf containing books paged through only once, save for a few special ones that have been read through over 15 times. These books were sorted by hardcover and paperback and then by author’s last name. On the bottom shelf was a complete set of encyclopedias, all under the same topic -- animals. The pages were yellow as an old man’s teeth, dog eared and torn, and the photos were in black and white. None of these things had made any difference to me, as I had loved to play this sort of game with myself. I’d flip to a random page and read about the animal, and later draw them. However there was a thin layer of dust over these books, as I hadn't the time for them.
There were two shelves not containing books. It rather held an odd assortment of things that were either gifts from my sibling’s travels and adventures, or something I had collected myself. There was a jar of sea glass that I had spent years finding, bent over at a 90 degree angle hovering over a pit of shells only to find one or two pieces. Sometimes none, due to the rough surf snatching them away, or simply because low tide was far too early for my summer self.

Next to the jar of seaglass, there were various rocks from various places, and oddly enough, there was a rubber duck collection. Well, it wasn’t much of a collection, as there were only three. One that glowed in the dark. One that was dressed as a pirate. And one that was a plain duck. Each were a gift from my sister, and I haven’t the slightest clue as to why she gave them to me.

One time, my dog -- then a cowardly puppy --  had managed to grab one of the ducks, but was terrified by the loud squeak it admitted, that he dropped it and ran downstairs seeking protection from his fortress of toys. Only to return minutes later to sprawl out in a patch of sun orlay across my feet, as a worked on my homework at my desk.

My desk matched all the other furniture in my room, and was in my outcove. My outcove had a wall that was completely a window, while the other two walls had corkboard with pictures of my life. The pictures were neatly pinned by the corner so not to ruin the picture. The pictures were from almost ages of my life.
Me in london, posing by a guard and his horse.

Me at my middle school lunch table.
Me graduating, beaming as I shook hands with my principal.
Me playing with a ribbon whilst eating a chicken nugget.
Me asleep on the top of the staircase, stuffed animal in my arms.
Me and my siblings pointing at something, my pigtails tied by bows.
Me several days old, on the lap of my mother.
Me at the beach, sitting on my surfboard, a large wave behind me.
Me and my friend making faces at the camera.

Photobooth style pictures, pictures from my phone, and pictures taken from my mom’s nice camera, all carefully placed so nothing overlapped, and everything could be seen. All moments that have a story behind them, some only my parents could remember.

Under this board is where I worked. The desk had a smooth white finish only interrupted by fingerprints made visible by graphite. In the far right corner, out of the workspace were textbooks stacked on one another. Math, history, german, french.

Next to that, there was a vase filled with feathers from red tailed hawks, penny hens, owls, and songbirds, and another vase with dried hydrangeas that admitted a slight sweet scent. A whiteboard was propped against the wall, blaring reminders. Three mason jars contained an assortment of writing utensils. Pencil shavings and eraser crumbs pooled at the base of the jars.

Hardly an arm’s length away from the sea of my desk, was my self-titled ‘couch-bed’. There was a considerable amount of pillows on this ‘couch-bed’, and several blankets. The ‘couch-bed’ was used for a friend spending the night, or as a couch for the TV. Across from the couch, there was a Wii, Xbox, and DVD player but they were hardly ever used, as I usually used the TV for Netflix. The TV was hung on the wall, and dust was all over the top.

Adjacent to the couch was the dresser. A jar with a bunch of different small-scale flags were on it, collected from the embassies I have visited. Two Harry Potter books were held by eiffel tower bookends. One was the original british edition, and the other in german.

Beside the dresser was a few inches of wall and then a door, usually closed. It was a stubborn door, as the carpet was too thick for it to close with ease. A dog collar, much too small for any of the dogs in the house, hung from the door. I look behind my shoulder, everything was neat.

Or at least it appeared to be.

I closed the door, stubborn as it was, and flicked off the light of the room in which I slept.