People never look up.
My family storms in, stomps around, looks left and right. Sometimes they search underneath the bed or stick their heads inside the closet. But they never look up.
That is why I hide here.
The climb is precarious but worth it. Curled up, comfortable, alone.
When they call, I get twitchy but I pull my arms tightly over my face.
Relaxation washes over me on this shelf in the corner of the closet. There are always soft things here—sweaters in the summer, beach towels in winter. I sigh. Knowing they will never find me.
November 11, 2015 prompt: Comfort/Refuge – In 99 words (no more, no less) write about a place of comfort that is a refuge. Have fun…or go dark. Play with the idea of comfort and refuge.