The same old house. The same rusty door.
I remember my childhood.
I step carefully on the rotten boards. They make the same creaking sound with every step. As a child I was afraid of this sound. But today I am glad to hear it.
I go into the room. I take a deep breath and remember the sweet smell of my mother's perfume. It was my favorite smell. Now all I can smell is rust and dust.
It tickles my nose, and I pinch it with my fingers.
I run my hand over the old, rough table. Every crack in it is a story of my childhood and my hobbies.
I walk over the shards that get stuck in my shoes. The mirror on the wall is broken. I carefully take a shard and point it toward the sun.
A ray of sunlight comes rushing into the room, and its thin path illuminates a black chest in the corner of the room.
What is it?