I walked into the study, side steeping and hop scotching around the towering stacks of books as I near the library maze where father's desk was. He was sat at the heavy mahogany table, tapping away at his mac as the sounds of '...' whispered through the speakers. I could never understand why he liked that kind of music.
I stood there for awhile, observing the mess piled around him. Papers sloppily stacked onto books, other chairs, side tables you name it. Referencing books stacked against one side of the desk, only just balanced well enough for a mug to go on top. I sighed I as I picked up scraps of paper, rubbish, food wrappers and plates placed on bookshelves and of the floor.
'Hey Dad,' I started, wary of what would happen next. This tends to be the normal routine. After school I would venture in, tidy up a bit whilst trying to initiate a conversation. Depending on how into the book he was writing, he would either not reply or reply long enough before being sucked right back into the computer screen. Nothing.
I walk back out of the maze with my new dirty treasures and dump them back into the sink. I'll wash them later when I make food. I make a hot chocolate for myself and make my way upstairs, my other hand trailing along the iron wrought banister picking up dust.
My room was on the third door to the left... the other rooms were full of junk, dis-used books, memories of a long time ago. When my mother was here.
I shake off the feeling of forgotten memories as I push open my own door, swinging my bag into my hanging chair.