Pillowtalk assignment

Pallid and forlorn,

The pillow sits on my bed

Waiting for my dreams.

The girl rolled off her bed, lifting her head from the dusty old pillow. She turned and stared at it morosely for a few moments. It belonged to her grandpa. "Belonged..." she thought numbly. He was gone now. Forever. For as long as she could remember, the old pillow with its pallid striped pattern had lain at the head of his bed. When she was little, she would clamber into the bed with him in the  mornings and lay there as he told her stories. Stories of his childhood, or of Grandma or of his brothers. Sometimes he would fabricate stories of his adventures as a cowboy, telling of his faithful horse and his many wrangles with Jessie James. Her grandpa. The man who had given her unconditional love and support, the one she told everything to. On impulse, she had snatched his pillow when they were cleaning out his house. It was all she really had left of him now. There were pictures, of course, but they felt immaterial. The didn't feel like him. The faint spicy scent of his aftershave clung to it, and she inhaled deeply. Then, trying to take heart, she stood up to face another day without him, placing the pillow forlornly on her bed.