Descriptive Writing Piece

            I stand at the foot, holding the ends of the thick blanket and raise my arms in anticipation. Keeping them straight can be a challenge, because only the thickest and heaviest blankets will suffice, but I manage. As quickly as I can, I swing my arms back down, listening to the whip of the blanket against the mattress. It thunders satisfyingly, and the urge to do it again fights inside of me. The sunlight streams into the room, and grazes on top of the blanket, spotlighting millions and millions of dust mites floating out of the blanket and into the air. It almost seems spiritual, as if a tiny being were to emerge out of the blanket, towards the stream of light and into the heavens. The air is now filled with the fragrance of freshly washed linen. Immaculate and clean; it smelled good enough to repel anything that could possibly taint it. And the pillows, giant, fluffy cushions of comfort. 

I have been holding back the urge to flounce in between the sheets, but for now, the urge wins. I slip between the soft sheets and the heavy but welcoming blanket, and warmth instantly floods within me. The mix of textures grazes my skin, and it feels like a baby in its mother’s arms. The weight combined with the silky touch of the blanket provides an impenetrable shield against the dark, my fears, and the lurking monsters in my closet. This comfortably irresistible cloud of security is my bed.