This wasn’t the life we were meant for. We were supposed to be attached to the feet of someone with a thirst for adventure, hiking through the fields of Yorkshire and beyond.

What we have, starting with an impulse buy one Sunday afternoon, is a life that’s mostly spent sitting in a corner of the bedroom floor. We’re pushed up between a pair of too-high black stilettos and a box with tap shoes in that’s not been opened in all the time we’ve been here.

We watch the bits of life that take place on the bedroom floor. Socks kicked off in the middle of the night because she thinks she wants to wear them to bed and then decides otherwise. Early morning stumbles as she attempts to get dressed too quickly and falls over her own trouser legs. Scarves and beads and hairslides thrown around in frenzies of trying to find things that fit together. And finding things that go together isn’t really her strongest talent.

We see emotions, too. We see her sighing and comtemplating difficult days, pacing and practicing bits of what she wants to say later in the day. We see her dancing, sometimes, in the mornings when Chris Evans plays something funky on the radio and she thinks she’s all alone. Occasional little dance routines she remembers from her youth when she hears something by Billy Joel or Dexy’s Midnight Runners.

At the end of the difficult days, we see her banging into the bedroom, rushing to get changed out of work clothes and into house slacks and a comfy jumper – both left on the floor from the night before. Because once those are on, that marks ‘me time’ and relaxation.

Sometimes, we see him come upstairs too. We watch them chatting on the bed, one of them changing, one of them talking. Sometimes both of them talking and twizzling with each other’s hair until one of them admits that it’s more irritating than endearing and they need to go downstairs for dinner and the telly.

And we see – not anywhere near as often as we’d like, but on occasional Sunday mornings when the weather’s just right and one of them manages to convince the other that a pootle out somewhere might be a good idea… We see the thick socks being pulled on and the jeans being brought from the back bedroom. And we see her leaning over to collect us and blow the dust off ready for a bit of fresh air and a little adventure.

This week’s RememberRed prompt was on the theme of Personification.

The dictionary defines personification as “the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something nonhuman, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form.”  Now it’s your turn to tell a piece of your story from the point of view of an object who bore witness in 400 words or less.

I enjoyed this one – and this is the first time that I’ve made any kind of effort to stick with the word count limit. Although I’ve overshot that slightly.