Deepest Depths of the Heart

The Traveller walked down the road, their destination in sight. The tavern, known to locals as the Locket, was sat on the corner of a crossroad in the middle of town. The sign swinging in the breeze showed a Locket in the shape of a Heart. The story goes that once upon a time – before the bombs fell – this place was popular. People of all shapes and sizes would come into the Locket for food, drinks, birthday parties and the like, but that was a long time ago. No one held birthday parties anymore. Too expensive. Too loud. Too easy to be found by the scavengers that roamed the New World in packs, stealing everything they found.

The Locket was not in business anymore, hadn’t been for quite some time. That didn’t mean the place didn’t have value, if you knew where to look, and the Traveller knew just where to look. The Traveller pushed the door open cautiously, their hand hovering over the pistol at their hip. The room was empty, except for a few tables and chairs scattered about, and the bar had long been stripped of anything that could be eaten, drunk or sold for food. The fireplace was filthy, ash, grime, and things best left unsaid coated the surface of the furnace and concealed a phrase the Traveller knew was there; ‘Love lies within the deepest depths of the heart’. The fireplace, as disgusting as it was, was the reason the Traveller came. Reaching into the firebox, the Traveller blindly groped around the top of the furnace and – Voila! – there was a click. Stepping back, the Traveller absentmindedly wiped the grime off their hand onto their jacket, then moved the mantle from the wall. Behind where the mantle was held in place by the lock that the Traveller had just undone was a small alcove, containing a smoothly polished wooden box. The Traveller reached in and almost reverently picked up the box, closely examining it. The box itself was made of Walnut, and seemed to be a single piece without hinges, seems or locks, yet the Traveller knew that it was a box. Gliding their fingers over the surface of the box, the Traveller closed their eyes, feeling for the slightest bumps and flaws. For a few minutes, they simply ran their hands down the top, sides and bottom of the box with the utmost respect for what they held, and soon their dedication was rewarded. Pressing their fingers into the wood at specific points, the box slid in half, opening to reveal a beautiful locket, a ruby encased in gold filigree, in the shape of a heart nestled in a bed of red velvet. The Traveller almost wept at the sight. After all these years, they finally found it. Lifting it by the chain, the Traveller slowly lifted it over their head and around their neck, looking down upon the Locket with a mix of joy and sorrow. Placing the box within their rucksack, the Traveller returned the fireplace to its original position. They left swiftly, looking about them warily, as though the world would feel the tremendous value of that which the Traveller carried upon their neck.

Leaving town was once hard, but now it was as easy as breathing, which coincidently was somewhat harder to do now than it was several years ago. Nonetheless, the Traveller moved on, leaving the town behind them, and walking forward with renewed determination. When they stopped for the night, the Traveller lifted the locket from their neck and pressed the centre, opening the locket. A face smiled back at them from within the Locket, smiling their joy and love for all to see. The Traveller choked back a sob, smiling at the picture with tears in their eyes. Their whispered words were swept away by a soft wind, and far, far beyond the campsite, past cities and towns, a young figure stopped, listened to the wind, and smiled.