#11 The Table (Part I)
There is no sight more bizarre than a table that has been destroyed by shattering the center of each leg. Impression marks scarred the warm surface. Indents from a sledge hammer showed where the blows - four equally well placed blows - landed. I could imagine the force of each blow traveling through the table, down the length of the leg until it was too much to bear and the feet . . . the hand turned feet exploded. Shredded.
Should have left splinters everywhere.
Someone had set the table back against the wall. Someone had swept the floor clean. Someone had gone as far as to wax my floor, and put a new liner in the trash can in the kitchen. Someone had left my bedroom door open. Someone had put a white down comforter on my bed similar to that in Thorn's home. Except . . .