Only A Week

• Lucy Moore, Grade 6, Kiama Public School
• Short Story
• 2015

Excellence Award in the 'The Write Track 2015' competition

I think the bedroom could be stylish, if its owner had not been on strike against cleaning and her mother. But since she was, the smallish room was a very expensive tip.

The dark crimson paint on the walls was chipped and scratched due to frequent teenage tantrums, and a large chunk of ceiling was missing where a platform heel had collided with the plaster. The blind over the window was pulled down, and had illegible permanent-marker scrawl all over it. The heavy red velvet curtains were practically shredded, and one had given up completely and puddled on the floor.

The floor itself was built from ebony-wood planks that had once been highly polished, but were now dull, with random scuffs and scratches. Next to the bed, the black, shaggy rug looked like it was moulting.

The sleigh-shaped bed was an antique, made from carved mahogany. It contained a hungover fifteen-year-old under a silk quilt embroidered with red roses that was now stained with who-knows-what. At the end of the bed was a eighteenth-century rosewood chest, thrown open to reveal skimpy, sparkly clothes and ankle-twisting heels with shards of glass thrown in from the broken mirror.

The solid-gold-framed mirror hung on the door, and was broken because of a acne discovery. The door had once resided in Hampton Court, but was now sadly decrepit, hanging off its hinges, with its jet handle cracked down the middle.


It was hard to believe the room's inhabitant had been there for only a week.