It was claustrophobic in there. Gross too.
Bits of lint. Bread/toast crumbs, biscuit chunks, mouldy chocolate slabs, wrappers and hair. Wads and wads of hair.
From where the hair came was anyone’s guess but some was curly and there was not a single person in this household getting a perm on the down low.
There was a bunch of loose change too. Some of it in denominations you’d actually want to spend.
On an item that was tacky and likely made of plastic.
Edgy could hear the muffled moans, discussions, arguments and the remonstrating of the life that was above cushion (AC). Before cushion life (BC) was a veritable breeze compared to this.
When he, you know, was housed in an actual box he felt less boxed in. This crevice was dank and icky. It was foosty and smelly. The opposite of a womb. Dry and scratchy.
Two weeks he’d been here. Two weeks ago he’d slipped from the makeshift table that was the bottom side of the box.
Obviously he felt part of a bigger picture. That was kind of his ‘thing’. An edge piece had purpose. Was a leader, easily recognisable. Famous among puzzles. First out of the pile and necessary to form the goal.
And, yes, he didn’t quite fit in here amongst the other forgotten bits and bobs. The detritus and the waste. No, his was a requirement. An incomplete task. Without Edgy, there was no Paw Patrol Puzzle to be finished.
Edgy desperately wanted to be back AC in the BC and had shuggled and shimmied with all his might but like an adventurer stuck in quicksand, he was only making things worse.
Stay still, stay calm. They’ll find you.
Eventually.
He’d survived three hoover attacks. The extended nozzle pushing in perilously close to where he lay. But for a combination of a benevolent bit of belly button fluff and the cleaner’s less than enthusiastic ‘cleaning’ methods, Edgy would have gone the way of the pedal bin and ‘sayonara’.
Then it came.
A sound not unlike when you’re first waking. Half heard. Half-formed. Nearly understood.
“MavuDecklabekodesooofffu?” Middle register, feminine.
Then, clearer still... “AvgubreckedkabackoftheSOFA!”, same voice, only louder, agitated.
Something on Edgy’s shoulders lifted.
Light began to pour in as the huge gloomy lid was raised up.
“WUT?” said a higher pitched voice. Younger, excitable.
And, then like the moment when a VHS film tape suddenly kicks in to the correct speed.... “szxzkjnxjgyjfjsad..... HAVE YOU CHECKED DOWN THE BACK OF THE SOFA?”
Yes, this was it, salvation.
Scenes. Absolute scenes!!!
Like when Tom Hanks gets Wilson back.
Joy. Edgy could cry, but that might dampen his edges.
“Found it!” A pause...."Mum, I’ve found 2euros, can I buy some sweets?”
