The Key

She found the key lying soundlessly under the drawer's false bottom.

She knew it was there...all she needed to do is lift to from it's sleep.

Simple, cold steel. So easy, so heavy.

Where there's a key, there's a lock, she thought.

Why lock it up? 

Lock what up?

My point exactly.

Is it valuable?

Secret?

Shameful?

Painful?

Through the dark halls the key rode silently in her pocket.

Past door after door with no keyholes.

Nothing shameful.

Nothing of value.

Nothing to hide.

Then, there it was.

The door with the keyhole.

The only door in the house with a keyhole.

The key grew warm in her hand.

What if she discovered the secret?

The shame of what lay hidden beyond the keyhole.

The valuable thing that needed to be locked against theives.

Or hearts.

Her palm grew moist.

The key waited, trembling.

Given the chance, it would reveal and she'd know everything.

Fear fought the key in her pocket.

The battle was epic.

Fear won out.

The key knew it would never win, salved it's wounds and went back to sleep in the drawer.

She knew it's hiding place.

She could go there later.

Or not.