From a dusty weathered attic, a mouldy wooden ladder with rusty nails hung to it like creeping grapevines. The lingering light that paved and narrowed into a single path cornered me yet beckoned me to walk through. The attic was as dark as a bottomless pit, as if swallowing those who dared to enter. All I had to illuminate my way was an old rusty lantern flickering in my hand. Even with this bulb of buzzing luminescence, being inside the attic felt like I was in a monochrome film: silent and static, with nothing but the creaks of my rough feet upon ancient mahogany to accompany me.'

The room was filled with dust-coated boxes with the miniscule nimble steps of a tiny mouse. Each cardboard box came in different sizes stretching from small coffers to boxes that towered over me in the pitch-black darkness like silent, stocky beasts. There were also items that would not fit in a box so they were simply clothed in a white blanket as if they were ghosts. All those objects came from an array of places and time, like fragments of history melding into this mouldy shed. A shattered chandelier could be barely seen, plunged into the darkest corner of the space. It was as golden as the sun but as age caught up with it, the eye-catching piece became nothing but a dull relic. The sharp-edged glass has broken to a million pieces that not even the best counters could identify its amount.

In another corner, there was a flat television screen. The tin-lined walls and polished antenna still stood in pristine condition, yet the box was infested with clumps upon clumps of dust that tickled my nostrils. On the contrary, the accessory it sat beside shone like a dazzling diamond unearthed from the crevices of the nearly lightless room. A rainbow-striped box with splashes of myriad-coloured paint, barely resisting the consuming void. I opened the box as it reflected on my debris-tinted glasses to unlock this rainbow of sealed memories. From the depths of the treasure trove, A brown furry stuffed bear bulged out. A rounded hat was elegantly sewn onto its fluffy head and tainted with the odour of vague childhood, the fragrance of innocence leaving my nose as I exhaled. Under all the mess were toys and photographs that have not aged. Photographs of my exuberant yet pure self playing with the toys in the box eternally engraved upon yellowed crinkled paper. There was a feeling of happiness yet melancholy as I compared the two memories from different timelines. 

Touching and feeling the creases and every change on the frames had already reminded me of the old simple days with a feeling of naivet' and security. My body felt warm and smooth in the dark and shivering attic .'

Walking back to the light leading towards the door, I left the teddy in the dim rays as the lingering breeze rushed in and dusted particles off its antique orbs. I took one last glance to the dark and gloomy attic, before I put it all behind me with a feeling of relief and joy brimming in my heart.