Three Keys

He handed me a tiny wooden box. It was made from cedar that had been stained a dark colour. There was a tiny golden lock inlaid into one of the sides. The box fit within the palm of my hand. I looked at him, took his eyes into me. “What is it?” I asked.

“I gave you the keys when we first met, remember?” His blue and grey eyes swirled, or seemed to. “The ones you’re wearing?”

I looked at him quizzically and pulled out the chain from underneath my shirt. He had given them to me after we had first started dating. They were light and slim-I had thought they were charms. I liked keys. I hadn’t given them any significance at the time except that they were beautiful.

The key on the right was a dark iron, the centre one a bright metal that he said was silver but I thought must be platinum. It never tarnished, never dulled. The third key was made of a darker metal, almost black, with a sheen that recalled midnight. He said it was obsidian but I knew that it wasn’t that. Obsidian wasn’t a metal.

He nodded and took the pendant in his right hand and took my right hand holding the tiny box and raised it up to the keys that rested in his palm. “See?” He said. “They go together.”

Looking down, I saw that what I thought was scrollwork on either side were two more holes. Three keys, three keyholes; I looked up at him. “Do you want me to open it?” I was normally so good with my words but they lost me then.

“Duh.”

I swallowed thickly, on a precipice. I inserted the keys and clicked each one. When I opened the box, there was light.

He handed me a tiny wooden box. It was made from cedar that had been stained a dark colour. There was a tiny golden lock inlaid into one of the sides. The box fit within the palm of my hand. I looked at him, took his eyes into me. “What is it?” I asked.

“I gave you the keys when we first met, remember?” His blue and grey eyes swirled, or seemed to. “The ones you’re wearing?”

I looked at him quizzically and pulled out the chain from underneath my shirt. He had given them to me after we had first started dating. They were light and slim-I had thought they were charms. I liked keys. I hadn’t given them any significance at the time except that they were beautiful.

The key on the right was a dark iron, the centre one a bright metal that he said was silver but I thought must be platinum. It never tarnished, never dulled. The third key was made of a darker metal, almost black, with a sheen that recalled midnight. He said it was obsidian but I knew that it wasn’t that. Obsidian wasn’t a metal.

He nodded and took the pendant in his right hand and took my right hand holding the tiny box and raised it up to the keys that rested in his palm. “See?” He said. “They go together.”

Looking down, I saw that what I thought was scrollwork on either side were two more holes. Three keys, three keyholes; I looked up at him. “Do you want me to open it?” I was normally so good with my words but they lost me then.

“Duh.”

I swallowed thickly, on a precipice. I inserted the keys and clicked each one. When I opened the box, there was light.

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About Jamieson Wolf

Jamieson an award winning, Number One Best Selling Author. He writes in many different genre's. Learn more at www.jamiesonwolf.com
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