Day 61

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I washed the blue hoodie and let it dry.

It almost matched my blue covers.

It was more of a deeper blue though.

More rich with color.

When it finally dried, I'd taken it in my hands.

It was soft and warm in my hands. When I smelled it, it smelled of warm cotton and a hint of oranges.

That's what I noticed.

The smell of oranges.

Such a strange smell for an abandoned hoodie found on a park bench.

It had a sweet and fresh smell.

I held up the hoodie.

There was no name on it.

It was too big for me.

I still wanted to try it on.

I wore a simple brown shirt as I slipped the deep blue hoodie on.

The smell of oranges wrapped around me.

When I stuck my head through the hoodie, I found myself in a totally different bedroom.

Not mine.

My bedroom did not smell of oranges and soap. My bedroom did not have dark grey-blue painted walls. My bedroom did not have a bed with tangled grey covers. My bedroom did not have a young man sitting on the floor with a book.

You stared at me, wide-eyed.

I thought you resembled an owl when I saw you for the first time ever.

You stood up slowly, as if not to scare me. As if I was a small bunny you were trying not to scare.

I gazed around the bedroom once again, bewildered but not afraid.

Funny when one knows they're going to die anyways, they stop becoming afraid to die. Afraid that something bad might happen. Because they know they're going to die anyways.

"Who are you?" You asked me.

Your voice was soft, but with rich music behind it. You wore a simple black top and jeans that day we met. You ran a hand through your dark hair.

I only stared into your deep brown eyes that searched mine.

You held out a hand, offering me... what?

What were you offering me?

Friendship? Help? Something more?

"What... how did you get here?" you stammered.

I just shook my head. I didn't know what to say, so I said nothing.

"And how do you have my hoodie?" you gazed at the hoodie.

I looked down in surprise. This belonged to you?

Then I began to take it off to give it back to you.

But when I finally took it off, I was back in my room.

You were gone.

65 Days Left ||   P.JMWhere stories live. Discover now