The girl sits in a chair. Her hair is covered in moss, so has become green, as if she were a creature of the sea. Her skin is pale, though, and fresh, smooth; not like the wrinkled skin she’d have if she were from the sea. Her eyes are fixated on a lamp that hides in the corner of the room. She wants the lamp to stop hiding. It is a fairly extravagant-looking lamp, perhaps that is why it hides. It doubles as a coat hanger due to the hook-like spirals coming out from it. The girl regrets the time she put her coat on it. She made the lamp feel confused and conflicted. Since then, it has been in the corner.
She gets up from the chair, brusquely, and confidently strides over to the lamp, having prepared a speech.
“I know we haven’t talked in a while,” she begins, lowering her eyes so to avoid the overpowering glare of the lamp, “but I am sorry for how I treated you. I never imagined how that would make you feel. I will never hang a coat on you again. You are my friend and you’re special to me. Please forgive me.”
The lamp turns off. The girl looks dazed for a second, wondering if that is a sign of rejection. But then, the lamp starts flickering, and a message comes through.
I’M SORRY I HID IN THIS CORNER the light flicks. CAN WE MOVE PAST THIS?
“Of course we can,” the girl responds, embracing the lamp in a warm hug.
Once the hug has finished, the lamp moves across the floor and positions itself in the middle of the room, on the rug, like before.
Everything is bright again.