The Locket

The sun sank behind the towering evergreens.

Tangerine light danced across the porch.

The only sound was the slight creaking of rocking chairs.

Two wrinkled hands lay intertwined.

John and his wife lived very comfortably.

He looked over at Margaret-- then down at the locket.

The heart-shaped locket glinted golden in the fading sunlight.

John remembers the first time he asked his wife about the locket...

It wasn’t an issue he pushed anymore.

But, he never stopped wondering.

What could ever be so secret-- so precious?

Forty-five years of burning curiosity.

It had become unbearable.

That night, as he watched his wife sleep, he decided--

He would finally know what was inside that locket.

Carefully undoing the clasp, he slid the chain off.

He clutched the locket in shaking hands.

Margaret moved-- John held back a yell.

She simply turned, murmuring something in her sleep.

John let out a quiet sigh of relief, and silently left the bed.

A cold sweat coated him as he entered and locked the bathroom.

Flipping on the light, he filled the room with dim fluorescence.

He fumbled with the latch, until finally-- it was open.

John froze-- staring at the inside of the locket.

He closed it.

He climbed back into bed.

He placed the chain back around his wife’s neck.

And he laid back-- staring at the ceiling.

John used to be afraid of dying.

Even more ridiculously-- of dying without seeing inside that locket.

But, not anymore.

Now he was only afraid of one thing.

And that thing was lying next to him in bed-- wearing that locket.

That locket-- which contained something that he couldn’t explain.

That locket-- with a picture inside.

A picture of him, from behind, standing in a dimly lit bathroom--

Looking inside a gold, heart-shaped locket.