The emergency of remembrance was on her mind. A lost friend or two could populate her mind with thoughts of regret and what ifs. What if she had stayed there and continued what once had been a beginning.

Cinderella, the epitome of honesty, dishonesty and hope rolled into cone.

She found herself back where she had booked that mental seat for her tired legs. Walking the London road was no throwing of a stone away. None the less she had arrived to find the guarded steps to a damp dark palace. It had not seen a sparkle, since spring had lost its cleaning.
“CINDERELLA” She called, “have you seen the light of day and stepped back in to it?” The afternoon breathed in the answers.

She pressed the buzzer marked Cinders. A woman answered the door. She had spray painted a picture of red in front of her face.

“Cinderella has taken the bus and caught the train out but left her tickets behind.”
The woman handed her a box . A red medical box with a white cross. She opened it for her to see. toothpaste, antiseptic cream, insect ointment a used bandage with its seal broken and a few plasters. All contents packaged white with large red crosses in their centres. Nothing like coming straight to the heart of things. She thought.

The woman asked her if she would like to see Cinderella’s room.

“ Come up, come up here.” she said.

“ Its been years and untouched.”

Years? she questioned her mind. Cinderella had not been and gone for that long. That had rhythm to it. Her thoughts silenced her once again.

The room a dark Inn filed in tight ordered spaces and shadowed in black paint. A tall working wardrobe still working with the left leftovers of a brown coat and one black shoe. A window with spaces around it billowing light that danced on the wooden slated floor.

Cinderella had left her this last will and testament that had strayed from the mantle. A medical box.