Lake of gold

Tartan slippers shuffled across worn, yet pristine, carpet. Small porcelain cats and silver framed photos lined the mantle of the fireplace except for a silver urn that stood proudly among them in the center. Engraved into either side of the polished surface a paw print stood as if holding the curled letters that made up the name, Butter Biscuit. Crackled leather was quickly occupied as the woman lowered her aching body into the puffy armchair. She let out a weary sigh and allowed herself to slump back to become almost swallowed whole by the sheer size difference. She finally won the battle between antiquated furniture, rising to place herself at the edge of her seat. Slippered feet firmly set on the floor, she reached to where she had let her pink and white quilted shopping bag slump beside where she rested. Her long, thin fingers grasped the soft surface and pulled it up to sit in her lap.

It wasn't her normal style, she thought to herself looking around at the delicate figurines, fine china and fresh lavender that made up the carefully curated expression of her home, but she had been drawn to it.

The small black book she’d found at the Sunday market stall was pretty yes, finely made with strong paper that had a subtle texture when rubbed between two fingers. Yes, she knew it was a good book but why hadn’t she picked the darling notebook displaying the view of a cottage through the thick budding rose bushes? Or the cover holding a kitten frozen in time amongst falling fall leaves, elegantly twisted to reach up towards the fluttering branches?

Maybe she had made a mistake, she thought letting a disheartened sigh, maybe this book was meant for another?

Reluctantly she let the book fall open with a satisfying first stretch of its spine. She searched for the receipt that had been left for her in the front cover only to be met by a shine of a bright gold coin.

How strange, she picked up the coin to inspect it, what good luck.

With her receipt no where in sight she slipped her bookmark adorned with a pastel purple tassel between the lucky pages and sat the book down on the coffee table before leaning back to be blissfully swallowed again.

She allowed herself to begin to slowly doze off before a low dragging noise brought her drifting mind back to consciousness. She opened her eyes just in time to watch the purple tassel slid off the lip of the table and land with a soft plop by her feet. At first she just stared in bewilderment at the now loose piece of decorative string.

What on earth? Leaning over she slowly reached down and brought the bauble up to her face. How did it come lose?

She opened the small book to where she had left the laminated paper strip displaying an alpine grassland and the words Every day is a new day and to at what first felt like horror saw the bright surface of another coin.

The black book clasped tightly in her thin fingers she made her way as fast as her cane could assist her to her kitchen table and hurriedly placed the soft leather down on the red and white patchwork cloth. She could feel her heartbeat fluttering like a caged bird as she grabbed at a pile of off-white envelopes, their small rectangular windows gave way to heavy red text reading Overdue.

With shaking hands, she opened the small book around the middle and placed the envelope inside and slammed the cover shut. She stared with intense purpose at the quite cover her hand lay on, hot nervousness making a foggy outline. Slowly she opened the book again and stared. Glittering and brilliant a single gold coin lay between the pages where the paper had been placed. The old woman allowed herself a joyous cry of excitement and quickly added the coin to the matching coins that had once been her bookmark and receipt.

She hurriedly placed letter after letter into the book, using a saucepan supplied from the drying rack by the sink to hold her growing collection of shimmering coins.

What else? She glanced around desperately. What paper don’t I need?

A long piece of twine strung across her doorframe held Christmas cards from years present to past. A plume of settled dust was thrown skyward as they were plucked from their line and forced between the pages of the notebook. A soup pot was recruited into the effort as the saucepan started the spill it’s contents onto the once carefully set out placemats. Recipe cards were next. Their careful cursive transformed into something new.

Something better. She thought as she used the technique she’d developed to get the fastest results.

Tea bags didn’t work, much to her dismay. But the paper towel did. As did the toilet paper, the wrapping paper, and the newspaper too. The table stood full of pots and pans, bowls and plates covered in the coins. Her knitting basket was tipped out next as the nervous excitement turned to fiery determination.

Her eyes darted around her dismantled home. Not a single piece of paper escaped her grasp, but nothing seemed to be left.

What else? She swept her piercing gaze over her belongings. There must be more!

Her body went stiff at the realization, her eyes grabbing hold of the Provencal floral Pattern surrounding her. She clawed at the wallpaper, crumpled flowers and luscious vines all thrown into the books awaiting pages. She scraped until her breath ran hot and dry against her tongue, the walls stripped wherever she could reach them. Her matte pink nails now chipped and full of her own treasure.

A swan in her own lake of gold she sat on her floor having given up on containing so many tiny pieces.

She raised her eyes once more, still unsatisfied, to the last pieces she could see. Departed loved ones looked back from where they were tucked in their frames, blissfully unaware of what had been decided.

She snatched them down and gathered them in her arms, the urn wobbled at the commotion and toppled. A grey crescent moon was painted where the urn lost its lid and rolled onto the carpet, ignored as the pictures were torn into small pieces to supply multiple coins each.

They’d understand, Hair flying wildly from where it had been a neat bun, if they knew what it was like to be me, they’d understand!

She felt the fine notebook paper between her fingers, lingering over the crisp white surface for a moment before tearing it from it’s bindings and pressing it back between the covers. Wrenching the covers apart she gasped in horror as the glitter around her fluttered into leaflets of torn paper. Pots and pans refilled with bills and magazines leaving her alone with her wealth of 20,000 broken papers.