The Mohair Bear - part one.

Stella stood, eyes closed, in the doorway of her little boy’s room. She tapped on the white trim - hands still gloved, long and black. She paused and took in a long deep breath, but she smelled nothing. Leaned her weight into the room, arms held her body from falling in, and listened. She heard nothing but her own sighs and the creak of the wall as she pulled herself back out. She stood at the precipice of her little boy’s room. Silence, broken only by the jarring and drawn out Ding… Dong… of the doorbell. All is lost she thought as she waited for whoever rang the bell to leave whatever they came with. Stella opened her eyes, went to the door, and opened it for the first time in days. God was in the light that poured in so blindingly bright. She raised her forehand to her head holding the sun in her palm and in doing so; she could see the porch had become a hospice for dying flowers and rotting fruit. Condolences written on cards attached to baskets and vases their words bled blue and black making them look like a child’s scribbles.That is where she found it, resting in a shoe box size wooden case, with a rope handle and a glass display like door so you could see that inside rest a beautiful antique mohair bear.