Favorite Place to Be

 A single, large window sits above a brown, oak desk. To the side of it, little orange fish swim on the covers of a navy blue bed. The corners of the room are messily decorated: a St. Louis Cardinal’s pennant here, an old piece of artwork there. Papers are littered all across the room, as the only neat part is the trophy case standing in a corner, proudly displaying all the multi-colored ribbons and trophies. I sit in the big armchair, and breathe the air in: a strange, musty but sweet smell. This is my room, a place where I can find shelter and comfort in, a shield from the displeasing things of the world around me. It doesn’t have the crystal clear beaches like Hawaii or the tall skyscrapers of New York, but in a way only I can appreciate, my room is my favorite place to be.