A short story by Sabina Nore
He didn't know if there was still time.
He ran up, as fast as he could, to climb on top of the book case and see if the key was still safe behind the least favorite of all his books. But alas, the key was gone.
Who took it?
How did they know of his secret place?
The box could now be unlocked by someone else.
A cold shiver ran down and up his spine and a million things he hadn’t thought of before suddenly clouded his mind. A chaos of incomprehensible noise and numbing silence blasted like a hurricane through his brain.
How could he allow something so precious to slip through his fingers?
He had it. No.
More than that!
Not only was it his but he was the only one who knew of its existence.
Now everything was in question. Suddenly everything was possible.
The box could now be opened by anyone in the whole wide world.
If only he would have kept it close by, close to his heart. No. Closer! Under his skin, as part of him.
There it would have been safe. There no one would have ever thought to look for it. Nobody.
Painting: "The Desperate Man" by Gustave Courbet
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