It doesn't help that today was grey, rainy and windy again. If this is how summer's going to play out I'd better start saving my pennies for a vacation. I can't go through another winter without a whole lot of sun to prepare me.
In any case, I thought the miserable weather was the perfect atmosphere for playing with the imagination and dashing off a little flash fiction. I hope you enjoy it.
Marguerite has an obsession with keys. She collects them wherever she can find them, in antiques shops, rummaging through limp, dog-eared boxes at garage sales, in pockets of abandoned coats at thrift stores. She's even found them in the gutter, flashing as they catch the light amidst the dirt and leaves.
Her very favourite few she wears on necklaces, strung on delicate ropes of gold chain. Others she's mounted on canvas or in shadow boxes, while even more remain littered across shelves or nestled in drawers. She keeps the lucky ones hidden around her house, a few on top of the fridge to guarantee she'll never go hungry, one inside her wallet for good fortune, and a few along her windowsills to guard against evil spirits.
Each key opens something or locks it inside. Some are keys to good and special things, like love, empathy and truth. Others are for ugly things, such as distrust, jealousy and selfishness. She keeps these keys hidden in the basement, but she doesn't get rid of them. It's important to hold onto them, to know where they are so no one else can unlock them without her permission.
But the most important key she keeps under her bed. It sits in a little wooden box, painted in bright colours. Every so often as Marguerite climbs into bed, she'll slip her hand down and feel for it, running her fingertips along its edges. She smiles as she drifts off to sleep, knowing that she can use it anytime she wants. It's her most important key, the key to possibility.
There we have it! A cold rainy day ending on the hint of possibility. Let me know what you think in the comments below. Have a great evening!