World of The Forgotten

The sounds of the outside world seemed distant and muffled as the bed's skirt trapped them. The opening doors, shuffling feet, and chatter all blended into a distorted cacophony. Darkness clouded my eyes as I lay crumbled and forgotten under the bed.

The darkness amplified my fears of living out the rest of eternity here. It was causing a weight of unease to sit upon my chest. The draft that swept through the room brought with it a bone-chilling coldness. It seeped into my fabric. Each day and night became a battle against the elements.

As I lay crumbled under the bed.

Clots of dust gathered on the floor were a constant reminder of the neglect and abandonment that surrounded me. Dust and lint clung to my fabric. The scent of musky sweat sept into my fabric as I dried out only a few days ago. The other items under the bed, forgotten by the world, echoed my sense of displacement and longing for connection. Some of us wanted to be worn again, and others wanted to feel the joy of being played with on race tracks and flying through the air.

In the stillness of the night, their chorus of wails and groans became a haunting symphony. They were pleading for someone to rescue them, to bring them back to a place where they belonged. Most nights I wanted to join in, but I couldn’t bring myself to engage with them. Their words were a jumbled mess of nonsensical ramblings, reflecting their descent into madness.

I couldn’t help but wonder if my sanity was slowly slipping away in this never-ending darkness. I yearned for the longing of my soulmate. Every time a dresser drawer opened, I thought I could hear her calling out for me. Although, I wasn’t sure if it was my mind playing tricks on me. Was she missing me, too? Was she suffering the way I am? The more the draw opened, the more my soul ached to be with her.

As I lay crumbled under the bed.

I wish parents understood the power of a clean room and the potential it holds for reuniting forgotten objects with their loved ones. Maybe, just maybe, if someone swept away the dust and neatly put the toys in place, a pair of searching eyes would catch a glimpse of me under this godforsaken bed. Maybe, then, I could escape this suffocating darkness and my loved one would embrace me with warmth.

Just maybe, I could go home.

My heart ached with the longing of my soulmate.

If I could crawl to her, I would.

But for now, all I can do is hope the parents or child will clean under the bed.

Wash me and reunite me with my one true love. My other half.

Folded together as one. Cozy in our nest of friends. Warm.

Oh, how I missed the warmth of surrounding fabrics and the smell of lavender laundry detergent that had seeped into the wood of our draws.

The jokes, the laughs. I needed it. I longed for it.

I wanted to be worn, and see the outside again. Feel the sun across my fabric.

The light turned on, casting a low glow under the bed, giving us some relief from this darkness. My eyes adjusted, and I could see fuzzy spots of mold growing around me from the red juice he had spilled the other day. I now knew where the sour smell came from as the rotten juice dripped down the walls.

They only cleaned what they could see, but they didn't reach far enough to clean what was under the bed.

The kid who occupied this room sat on the bed, causing it to creak. The sound rang in our ears, causing groans and wails from the others left behind.

Loud shuffling feet stopped in front of the bed. “Hunny, it’s time to deep clean this room.”

The clatter of cleaning supplies caused the wails of agony to turn quickly into shouts of excitement as they vibrated on the ground. The hopes of getting out to join our loved ones were so close, yet so far.

A wide, black prickly object came into view, screeching across the ground.

The scrapping sounded repeatedly causing me to cringe when I realized it was a broom. Dust and lint floated in the air, covering me like a blanket of brown snow and causing me to cough.

The skirt of the bed lifted, blinding us with more light than we’ve had in a long time. A hand began to reach for the forgotten items under the bed. The others yelled and cheered as they were finally rescued from this graveyard of the forgotten. My hopes of being reunited with her were finally here.

A red stick began to poke under the bed to push us to the front. The light hit my eyes, causing me to squint. The room came into view. The disgust on the woman’s face at how neglected her child’s room is.

“You need to clean under your bed more, Aaron,” the lady tsked.

“Okay, I will,” He said through his teeth.

She gave me a once-over and tossed me into a basket full of laundry. The drawer I belonged to came into view. Relief filled every inch of my fabric as the comfort of the warmth, and the smell of dirty feet and sweat surrounded me. I was finally going home.

Don’t worry Feetlicia, I’m coming home.