My Sword

I have a sword that hangs next to my bed. I bought it off the internet. I have to write something about it, because it is a very important thing  in my life. If you asked me the "If your house was on fire..." question, then my sword would be pretty high on the list of things I would want to save (assuming all living things are already out of the house). This sword is not sharp, but it is heavy. It is all black. This sword hangs next to my on my wall when I go to bed. But sometimes, when I see those yellow eyes peeking out of the closet or that tail sticking out from under my bed,  reach over and grab my sword. And I stalk the house. Maybe it is one o clock in the morning and I think some growl or hoot has woken me up. I creep down the stairs with my sword, holding it aloft. I hear foot steps. My heart is trying is beat its way out of my chest. I can't breathe. What was that noise? My knuckles turn white from gripping the hilt. I peer into the darkness and slowly back up, placing one socked foot behind the next. Something hits me from behind and I stifle a cry of alarm. It's my sister, armed with her daggers (the same sort as my sword). She couldn't sleep either. Glad for the company, we both creep around the house one last time and are satisfied with what we find- no monsters, orcs, Sith lords, or otherwise found anywhere. After saying good morning- it's now one-twenty a. m.- we curl up under the covers of our beds. I fall asleep to the image of my sword, hanging ready on the wall and that is enough. My Imagination slips from Reality and back into my backpack for safe keeping. For now, I am safe.