Her stepmother had made her move up here when her father died; she said that Cindy reminded her too much of her dead husband and she couldn't bear it. Cindy was allowed to take a few small items with her, such as her journal and a photograph of her father. The rest was boxed up and shoved into the darkest corner of the attic with most of her father's belongings. There was barely room for the cot and an old table. Cindy's old room became a sewing room, so that her stepmother and her two daughters could have the finest dresses, all meticulously crafted by the room's former occupant.
Her stepmother refused to allow anyone to visit Cindy at home, but she could not refuse to allow her to attend public school. The truancy officer was very clear on the topic of attendance, and Cindy was forever grateful. It was the only time she felt like nothing in her life had changed. Her father was still alive, her mother was at home taking care of the house, and the family home was filled with laughter. She lived for those moments in her creative writing class, where she could feel their loving arms around her as she weaved stories around them, wrapping them close to her heart.
She sighed heavily, her pen at the ready, and waited for an spark to flicker in her mind.
The prompt is the third definition of the word 'Light'.
less verbose half of the prompt: an image.
image courtesy of liam_101 (via Flickr Creative Commons)
