The boy is sitting with his eyes closed.
This is not the room where he sits waiting for the dentist’s nice receptionist to tell him he can go through now. This is not the shed where he sometimes looks on while his uncle carries out repairs on his car. This is not the room at school that has a cupboard full of art equipment for him and his class to learn about drawing and painting. This is not the room in the town’s gallery, where rows of his favourite artworks are hung around the walls with their bright colours. This is not the room at the hospital where you go and sit in a chair, while a nurse uses a syringe to take blood so that it can be tested.
Nor is it the booth that you sit in and pose while a camera takes photos of you and your friends. This is not the room at the top of the house his parents call the loft, where old things that they don’t want to throw away are kept. This is not the cubicle that he uses to dry himself and get dressed after a swim in the local indoor swimming pool. This is not the room where his auntie does her sowing and dressmaking, using her sowing machine and a tailor’s dummy.
He opens his eyes.
No.
This is his treehouse, where he can sit comfortably and feel perfectly safe.
This is where he can imagine all sorts of places…
Because he can!