The Little Drawer

I reached my hand toward the small cardboard matchbox resting on the base of the bookshelf... and paused. It was barely as long as my hand, worn softly at the corners. Tentatively, I pressed both thumbs against the edge of the inner tray. With a faint, scratchy whisper, the drawer slid out onto the wood. The inside was hollow and clean, smelling of dry paper. I leaned closer, tapping the smooth bottom with one finger. It felt like a hidden little bed... or a secret drawer made just for small things. Carefully, I nudged it closed again, listening to the soft scrape.