It has been days. Days! It is too quiet here...and I will go mad if that cat sits on me one more time! Gah!
At least it is sunny in this room. I hate waiting, but at least I can see.
How can she keep me waiting like this? I am an important book! She is expecting, and I am all about that. It's my title, for gosh sakes! This woman needs to know what is written on my pages before the baby comes. She started to read me, and then she stopped, called someone on the phone and...and then left me here. It's been days!
Why didn't she take me with her?
I have been here, page marked, waiting.
I've been waiting for her to open me again. Days!
There is dust all over my cover now! And pthfft--cat hair.
Where has she been?
What is that noise? Are they home? Is someone coming up the stairs? Is it her?
Who are those people? What happened? I don't understand. What are they doing with that box?
No! I don't want to go into the box!
I am a happy book about expecting babies! I don't belong in a box! I belong next to a crib!
No! Please! What did I do wrong?
I'm just a book! Don't put me into that box! Put me on a shelf! I'll do anything!
Yeah, this is sort of a buzzkill, but it's the very first thing that popped into my head for this prompt, and I am on a mission not to over-think. For context, after I had my miscarriage, my parents came over to the house while I was in ICU and removed anything and everything that had anything to do with Zoe and put it all away, including all of the pregnancy books. I still can't even look at the title of this particular well-known book without feeling a little sick, and it's going on ten years.