The Key

It's a cold November evening, and as I stand on my doorstep, I realize I have lost the key to my apartment. I frantically search again for it. It's not in my bag; it's not in my pocket; it's not in my wallet. My heart stops, my body goes on pause as I wait for my thoughts to catch up with the rest of my functions, and I start scolding myself. Out of all things, how did I lose my key? What if someone finds it and breaks into my house? Such a small, inexpensive piece of metal, yet so powerful that it upsets one's routine once it is lost. I realize I will have to call a locksmith. I collect my thoughts and, as I start looking in my bag for my cell phone with my fingertips, I palpate its irregular shape, its serrated edges, its smooth metal surface. It had been inside the lining, all this time, under a small tear.

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Hanny94

Author, Writer, Actress

Manchester , United Kingdom