Tisha Leigh
Bio
Belly dancer, costumer, amateur writer.
Stories (3)
Filter by community
The Locket
The heart-shaped locket was badly tarnished. She pushed until the door of the small, wooden chest was wide enough to fit her hand through. She managed to touch the locket with the tips of her fingers and drag it towards the opening until she could finally grab it. It appeared that her uncle had hidden it many years ago. She took out an old handkerchief and wiped the locket until the loose grime was gone, but several dark spots remained. She frowned, spit on the cloth, and continued to try and rub away the stains until they were nearly gone. Finally, her effort paid off. Except for a couple of very tiny faded spots, the locket now looked almost brand new. The gold color was like rich amber that glistened in the morning sun that crept through the tattered drapes which hung over the window. She turned the locket in her hand to examine the inscription on the back. She moved it closer to her face and squinted her eyes, but the words were too small to read. She remembered the magnifying glass that her uncle kept in the desk in his study. Years of scholarly work had damaged his eyesight, and he had come to depend on the eye glass in the last few years of his life. The desk was covered with old papers and books. The strong, musty smell of old wood and papers erupted from the drawer as she carefully opened it. She recognized her uncle’s faded handwriting on the old notes that lay scattered inside. At last she felt the small, wooden handle and knew she had found the eye glass. She pulled it from the drawer and looked at it for a moment and smiled. She recalled her uncle’s playful nature, and how he had tried to make light of his fading eyesight by naming the eye glass, “Clarence.” She ran her fingers over the handle where parts of the wood had been rubbed off. The only damage she could see was a tiny crack at the bottom of the glass, but other than that, it appeared to be in good condition. She took out the handkerchief again and wiped off a thin layer of dust that covered the glass. As she walked out the door of the study, she turned back and paused. She recalled the many nights she had spent there as a child, as she listened to the fascinating stories of her uncle’s travels around the world when he was a young scholar pursuing his studies of ancient civilizations. She wiped a tear from her cheek and slowly closed the door on the beloved memories behind her.
By Tisha Leigh5 years ago in Fiction
