AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Dark green paint coated the walls and peeled in some places. The wooden floorboards were weathered and worn, covered with books, shoes, toy soldiers, and knickknacks.
The little girl moved with familiarity through the mess, stepping over items without a second glance, her stuffed lion now held close to her chest.
Further off, an old television set was perched on a battered stand. It was clearly turned on due to the flickering lights casting across the space.
An odd song sounded from it.
In front of the TV, stood a green couch with faded brown cushions.
If only this couch could talk to us.
It was more than just a piece of furniture; it had been a witness to the history of this place, to the laughter and tears that had once filled the room.
Next to the couch, a small, scratched wooden coffee table bore the marks of everyday life, rings from coffee cups mingling with scratches and stains.
The whole place held an eerie stillness like it was suspended in time—a snapshot of a moment long passed.
In a far corner, toys and doll clothes covered the dusty floor. A lone chair sat in the corner as if it were a throne for the little girl’s imaginary kingdom.
Perhaps.
Pavel got in front of the television and watched whatever was on it. “Funny.”
What’s funny?
I headed over there.
Meanwhile, the little girl went over to the window and pushed it up. “The roof is this way.”
“Hold on.” I held my hand up and got to Pavel’s side to see what could be playing on the television. “Uh. . .”
It was some scene from a musical that I’d never heard of. A black man wore this. . .lion costume complete with a shaggy mane and odd tail.
I quirked my brows. “What is this?”
The little girl stared at me as if I were crazy. “It’s The Wiz.”
“Is it good?”
She flashed a huge smile. “It is the best movie ever in the world.”
This man in the lion costume stomped around on the steps of a building while these other people appeared scared on a yellow tiled road.
I caught some of his words as he sang and pranced around. “Did he just say that he is a mean old lion?”
Pavel snickered. “He did.”
The little girl remained by the window. “But, he really is not mean at all. He is nice.”
I pursed my lips and watched this some more.
His movements were a caricature of pride and confidence, a dance that seemed to mock the very nature of a lion.
Pavel laughed.
I frowned. “This is not funny.”
The lion pranced around with his paws—clumsy fabric-covered shoes—stomping the ground with deliberate heaviness.
