3. A bag full of "tiny-little-clothes".
"Cygnet's Residence" was not too bad, after all. At least judging from the outside. A tiny-little-building, made of tiny-little-red-bricks, surrounded by florid green. A smiling sun was right up in the sky shooting its positive vibes to the world. I was in a really good mood: finally I had the courage to come here and visit my friend despite all my fears. I had with me a bag full of tiny-little-clothes: mainly hand knitted tiny-little-leg-warmers to keep Squir cosy in the forthcoming winter.
A series of tiny-little-cubicles, giving all to a very long corridor, stretched in front of my eyes once I accessed the main area of the building. All together they looked like a white aseptic beehive where, instead of tiny-little-flying-bees, you would find a young woman banging her head repeatedly against a wall and a man tearing apart tiny-little-pieces of toilet paper to blow them in the air like bubble-soap... Oh! I probably forgot to mention: the main reason why people were internalised in Cygnet was to rehabilitate them from alcohol and drug addictions.
At the idea of Squir holding a bottle of Vodka with his tiny-little-paws, I roared with laughter. "I need to get him out of here", I said to myself. And then I saw him...
...He was there, at the end of the long corridor, by the window, perched on a rusty heater. He was staring at me with his tiny-little-eyes piercing right through my soul. It felt like he had been waiting there since the first day they brought him here, a year ago now. It became suddenly clear that he had been waiting for me, all this time, waiting for our eyes to meet again in the sweetest, tiny-little-hug.
Maybe for some of you all "this" will sound as a pretty tiny-little-useless-story; it sounds pretty big to me though. A tiny-little-life was in my hands back then, to be preserved and cherished. You know what they say: "Always start from the little!", or better... from the tiny-little.