A Forgotten Spirit of Memories: A bright, full moon, shines down brightly upon the enormous mansion, on the high hill

A Forgotten Spirit of Memories: A bright, full moon, shines down brightly upon the enormous mansion, on the high hill. Within the mansion, there are many elegantly beautiful people, who have gathered together in celebration of a great ball. As they dance, enjoy a great banquet of delicious food, wine and each others company, there lays one "body" with a "spirit" who wishes it could be a part of it all.

Within the attic of this enormous mansion, beside an old, cobweb covered spinning wheel, next to the rusty, old baby carriage and dust covered rocking horse, lays an oversized trunk. It is a trunk which has been long forgotten, pushed back into the dark, cold corner of the attic. Through a dusty window of this old attic, the soft glow of the full moon shines in upon this trunk. The trunk has a soft blanket of dust covering its lid.

Within this trunk, lays Mr. Oakwood. He is not deceased, he is not alive, he can not move, he can not make a sound. Although, many years ago, through the eyes of many people, he could talk, move, make jokes, sing songs and entertain hundreds, or more, at a time. He now lies on his back, looking up, with his soft, small, wooden hands at his sides. His legs and feet lay out at full length. He lays dressed in his small, child size, black suit with white undershirt. His little, red bow tie sits comfortably around his thick, wooden neck. He wears black, dress pants, along with shiny, black shoes and clean, white socks which cover his small, wooden feet.

He is as clean as can be. With the trunk, tightly locked and secured, no dust, parasites, nor cobwebs can touch him. Therefore, his clean clothes, perfect light brown hair, big, bulging, blue eyes, perky nose and perfect, lightly painted, smiling, pink lips are still in the same perfect condition they were in, many years ago, when he was first created, by human hands.

Although, he does not know it, nor can he remember it, while the gathering below continues on, into the night, his creative spirit remembers when it used to be a part of it all. It recalls being in front of very large audiences, with its master. Everything was once so incredibly wonderful. Year after year, night after night, oh how they would laugh, sing, meet and greet so many wonderful people, all over the world. Oh, how they would make so many men, women and children, of all ages, smile, laugh and be merry, if only for a moment.

Now, as the ball continues on, into the night and early morning, time slowly ticks away. Dust, lightly continues to fall upon the enormous trunk, in the cold corner of the dark attic. Mr. Oakwood lays waiting. He is patiently waiting for his next curtain call, he is waiting for his next audience, he is waiting for his next round of applause, he is waiting for...a time that may never come.