The Brass Key

I shuffled inside and let the door latch click shut, glad to leave the evening chill behind. Down on the bottom shelf of the hallway table, a little cream-colored ceramic dish caught the soft glow of the nightlight. Resting inside was an old brass cabinet key, cold and solid. I sat cross-legged on the polished wood and took the round bow between my fingers, hoisting it up just enough to turn it over. The worn teeth cast a sharp, notched shadow across my lap. I rested my thumbs against the smooth barrel, letting the cool metal slowly take on my warmth before settling it squarely back into place.