A small boy, no older than 12, tossed and turned in his bed, unable to rest. He needed to see it again. It burned in his tired mind. He looked at his bright digital clock: 3:15 AM. He couldn’t wait any longer. Throwing the blankets away from him, he stood in the darkness of his room. Making his way to the attic, his feet creaked the floorboards of the ancient house. Freezing still to not awake his sleeping parents.
After a few silent and undisturbed minutes he continued. Slowly but determined, he climbed up the ladder hanging from the ceiling. His head popped up into the attic, not seeing anyone or anything. Feeling safe, he continued into the attic. He instinctively looked to where his mission sat and followed his urgent need.
In the silent dark, a low light shone. It was an old lamp the boy believed was dead but there it was, shining a dull yellow light onto a single box. His prize was illuminated. He knelt down, respecting the box. Reaching towards it, his fingers trembled with fear and excitement. He opened the box carefully, finding its lone conents. A small picture frame clutched in his hands, reading: 1873. The boy smiled happily as he rememberd finally. He touched the glass holding the old photo and whispered, “Home.”
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