The spring's warmth melted the remains of the winter. Birds were singing their songs on return back to the whimsical tree currently regaining its life. The lake, now free of the frozen shackles, was alive and breathing once again. The sun was warming up the soil, calling out for grass to grow and bask in its light.
I was dusting the chandelier and thinking of how forgettable I was. I was wondering how soon the House would forget me if I seize to exist one day. A week? Or maybe a month? Or even a day or two? And if they'd remember... What they'd remember?
The process of me thinking of an inevitable fall of memories of my petty existence into хoblivion was interrupted by Mister Cubic's high-pitched voice:
"Tamara, please, stop torturing the chandelier! You are needed in the kitchen."
"Oh... Sorry." I got off a stepladder, folded it and took it under the arm. On my leaving I stopped and asked Mister Cubic a question:
"Mister Cubic..."
"What?" He sounded intrigued.
"Mister Cubic, will you forget about me when I die?"
"What?!" He sounded angry. "What a nonsense of a question!"
"But will you? And how soon?"
"It's ridiculous, Tamara!"
"I know. Of course, you will. But... how soon?"
"I will never forget about you!" He sighed tiredly. "How could one forget someone who asks that kind of question?"
The question was rhetorical. But I had the answer.
"Easily."