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May 29, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 17

Everybody has keys. But some keys, you have no idea where they go to. You just can't remember where it goes.

So, where does that "mystery key" go?

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Comments

He whistled cheerfully as he walked the last block to the house. His first house. He had worked so hard to afford this beautful place.

He reached the back door and fumbled through the keys. Front door, two keys. Side door. Here we go. Two back door keys. The skeleton key for the old lock worked quickly, but the deadbolt stuck a little. Finally. He opened the door and stepped in, smelling the cleanness.

As he crossed the kitchen, he reached into his back pocket for the stiletto. Not his house anymore, of course. They really should've changed the locks.

Posted by: Tanya at May 29, 2005 6:25 AM · Permalink

My desk drawer contains layers of sediment representing past lives. Canceled checks, credit card statements, and photos of people I once knew make up the bulk. Nestled in a corner, brought down by weight, are a smattering of keys without rings. They're just gold and silver shapes, and I can't make heads or tails of them or recall the doors they once opened.

I've been around a lot.

Pushing aside a stack of clutter, I remove a gold one.

"DO NOT DUPLICATE."

I place it on a piece of paper before me and carefully trace its outline.

I break rules.

Posted by: Adam at May 29, 2005 7:30 AM · Permalink

Nana’s funeral was barely over before my brothers started arguing over her will. I left them, slipping to the back porch. For as long as I could remember her hair was white, her skin unlined and she could hold me for hours with her adventure stories.

It was more ornate sculpture than key and was the only thing I wanted from Nana along with my memories. It felt surprisingly warm in my hand.

Behind the brooms was a door. As I unlocked it, hearing the colors and smelling the light, I briefly wondered how I would look with white hair.

Posted by: Darleen at May 29, 2005 8:47 AM · Permalink

The code had been given. Deep within the bunker, General Hall unsealed the code book for verification. He and Colonel Green both confirmed the code was accurate.

“Greenland radar confirms multiple atmospheric entries,” the airman’s voice quavered.

“Snap count is 10.” General Hall inserted his key and held his fingers over the red button. “9…8…Colonel? What’s the hold-up, dammit?”

…

Steve looked up from his race car track. “Whatcha got, Billy?”

“It’s Daddy’s magical key, Steve. It unlocks a secret door somewhere. Maybe it unlocks a treasure chest! I’m going to start digging in the backyard. Want to help me dig?”

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at May 29, 2005 9:28 AM · Permalink

I ran through the house, looking for locks that might fit the small brass key. At last, I arrived at the pantry door, jammed the key into the slot, and turned - nothing. Then I looked up at the kitchen window, and saw in its reflection my own temple, now interrupted by a small, circular metal plate with a key slot. I did not know what this meant, but I knew well enough what to do about it. Slowly, I inserted the key - and twisted - and unlocked myself. I swung open on brass hinges and inside, inside, INSIDE! I was empty.

Posted by: G-Do at May 29, 2005 11:08 AM · Permalink

The spiteful bitch.

His friends had warned him: don't date liberals. Not this year. Not ever, if he could help it. But oh! -- dat ass.

They'd held it together until Election Day. She exulted in the exit polls, humping him merrily as Florida broke for Kerry. Then, disaster. Things fell apart; Ohio could not hold. The humping stopped. At 9:30, she packed her diaphragm away for the night. He dared not celebrate, her scowl a promise of blueballs to come.

For two days they avoided each other. On Friday, he awoke and opened his laptop.

Q ERTYUIOP

The spiteful bitch.

Posted by: Allah at May 29, 2005 4:30 PM · Permalink

The key wouldn't turn.

And that last picayune cruelty did it, pushed him right over the edge. First the horrible call from Linda's lawyer. Then he'd risked being late picking up the kids so they'd have something decent to eat. Now this.

Well, he just wasn't going to take it any more.

The glass shattered beautifully.

But sliding into the seat Josh noticed the pink pom-pom dangling from the mirror. When he looked up at her gasp, he was just in time to see the woman put one trembling hand to her mouth.

Behind her he recognized his own car.

Posted by: Carthoris of Helium at May 30, 2005 12:20 AM · Permalink

I have a key that I miss;
One held most dear.
Where it was lost who knows,
so I'll have a glass of beer.

I have a key that I miss;
And when I walk down the street
I ask my friends if they know
and they shake heads, and shuffle feet.

Oh, no, where did it go
what happened my mind can't see;
Little lock opener I'm looking for you;
I miss you terribly, golly gee.

I have lost a key that I like,
but I'll find it have no fear,
Oh yes, I'll unlock my bike
this year.

Posted by: Kiril The Cycling Dude at May 30, 2005 12:35 AM · Permalink

This key... this key. It has to go to something. I wouldn't have it if it didn't.

Oh look, a young woman has come to visit. Such a pretty face. Yet so sad, though she's trying to hide it. Not my place to pry. I'd best keep it light for her, make some jokes. She's so friendly, but holds back. I can tell. Finally I ask, "My dear, is something the matter?"

"It's nothing." In the awkwardness, I look away to...

This key.... this key...

Oh! A young woman has come to visit. Such a pretty face. Yet so sad.

Posted by: marc at May 30, 2005 6:24 PM · Permalink