Pencil box

I climbed up between two dark leather hardcovers to rest. Tucked against the spine of an encyclopedia was an old tin pencil case, left unlatched by a tiny sliver. I stood very quietly, letting my fingers touch the cool embossed metal lid. Nearby lay a lost pearl-headed sewing pin. Using both hands, I guided the smooth steel pin right under the tin rim, gently levering it until the lid gave a dry, soft snap. Inside, a stub of colored graphite and a pink eraser rested in quiet velvet shadows. I sat down beside the cool lid, folding my hands.