Her Bedroom, Half Empty

There was a twin sized bed in the far corner with white sheets and a sky blue quilt on top.  The pillowcases had yellow stars on a black background, with a great full moon in the center.  She had always loved the sky and anything to do with it.  The ceiling was covered in glow in the dark stars and crescent moons.  The wall were sky blue like the quilt, but they had fluffy white clouds painted on them.  At the foot of the bed was a chest where she kept her shoes.  She had never been a very neat person, and all her shoes were sort of jumbled around inside.  Between the bed and the window was her dressers, one drawer still ajar and a sock hanging out of it.  On top of the dresser were trophies from her tennis matches and pictures of her with her friends.  There was also a note that read, "Good luck today sweetheart, you'll do great! Love, Dad."  She had read it, because it had been moved from her bedside table, which was the least cluttered object in the room.  In fact, the only thing on her bedside table was a glass of water.  It was half empty, much like the bedroom without her.

Various articles of clothing were strewn around the room.  She had never been a very neat person.  Only the day before he had been telling his daughter she needed to clean her room over the weekend, and she laughed and nodded her head.  She hadn't been lazy, just busy.  Always going somewhere, always doing something, always working on some new project or playing tennis.  Her closet stood to his left, the door wide open.  All her dresses were hung carelessly on hangers and various other items were thrown on the floor.  The only thing missing were her car keys and her tennis bag, which had been with her.  She had been on her way to a tennis match, the one she had been preparing for for so long.

He took one last look around the room and then left, closing the door behind him.  Her room was half empty without her, and she wasn't coming back.  His daughter was never coming home.