Wandering

The wandering key

In the odd times of normal society, there are happenings, rare though they seem, which defy the way a typical human looks at the world.  Whether a child’s doll moves by itself, or a page blows to the ground without a breeze…

The key was one such thing. It was an ordinary key. Not so small, but not so big. Average, some would say. No longer shiny like new keys, but a little rusty, like an old man with many years behind him.

The key was lonely.  It had a need, like all things, to fit in. Oh it so desperately wished to fit in somewhere. Anywhere. It longed for that day.

It saw other keys of all shapes and sizes. Small keys. Big keys. Weirdly shaped and fascinating keys. They all fit in where they belonged but this key did not. It could not. And ever so slowly… the key’s shine faded, and so did it’s hope.

There came a day when the key was especially lonely and feeling like there was nowhere for it to fit. Then… there was a boy. The boy was black haired. Wide eyed, and had a long scar just above his right eye.

To say the boy gave the key hope straight away was untrue. The boy came to the room where the key lay and looked around everywhere. He was making dissatisfied grunts and hopeless whines about everything he looked at. A woman came to him and said something and the child hung his head in disappointment.

But today was a different day. The light of the place fell on the key and it glinted a little through the layer of rust. The boy took notice and, like any kid, walked over curiously. Then the boy grabbed the key from where it had rested many years, instantly dropping it into his pocket with a smile of satisfied glee.

Ah, but fate rarely smiles on such inanimate objects, and as the boy skipped happily outside of the room and into the street, a hole opened in the bottom of his pocket, and the unlucky key into a gutter and lay there… all of a sudden forgotten.

The key waited for the boy to return. So it lay there. For many years it lay faithfully, slowly gathering dirt and rust. It never lost it’s faith that the boy would return to gather it from the gloom.

Decades passed. The key saw many seasons come and go and then one day, something strange happened. A coin fell into the gutter beside the key and lay there glinting. For a long time the key looked at this coin, until one day a hand came into the gutter, picking up the key and the coin at the same time.

The key was happy. The boy had returned. He looked at the face of the hand and to his amazement… the person was a very old man with a long scar above his right eye.  The old man looked at the key with wonder and smiled. A tear of joy at having recovered a lost and precious item.

The key was so looking forward to the future now. Maybe it finally fit in and have some meaning. It jingle around the old man’s pocket, against coins and other keys, until the hand came again and the key saw it was in a different room. The old man dropped the key into a cup of liquid and left it there for a long time.

Slowly the rust started to flake away. Slowly the rust turned to a dirty silver colour until the old man came back and cleaned the key to a brilliant shine. He went to a shelf, placed the key there beside many other shiny and wonderful objects… and there it lay again. Forgotten.

The old man would come everyday, to view the items on the shelf,  and to touch them or clean them. But one day the old man stopped, and in his place a young girl came. She had tears in her eyes and looked at the shiny objects with longing and a face full of grief. She sat at the chair tje old man had used many times and put her hair head in her jadi,  making weird sobbing noises which the key could not understand.

She was a pretty little thing though. Red hair. Freckles. Thin but tall. Oh but her eyes. Whem she looked up from her tears, the key saw a huge depth of human kindness and love. She saw the key, and, like her grandfather before her, the curiosity got the best of her.  She took it, putting it on a small chain of silver and placing it around her neck, where it hung for many more years.

The girl grew up. Moved to a different place, and then the key had that longing again. To fit in. Oh it so wanted to fit in somewhere. It was so lonely with a place to fit in. But he had his hope and he never lost it again.

The girl brought the key everywhere. One day she went to a room full of old furniture. She wandered aimlessly, looking for anything she might have for herself, until she soon came to a small chest with a lock. Her eyes lit up and she took the box, using some of the shiny coins to have it and then left. She took it home and tried to open it, but nothing worked. It was a well made chest of metal and could only be opened by a key.

She tried every key she had but nothing opened this chest until she remembered the chain around her neck. The key saw doubt in her eyes… but she tried it anyway. To the keys amazement and ultimate joy, it slid into the lock and the lock clicked open. The spirit of the key was so delighted and happy. Finally… after so long, it finally found a place where it fit. A place where it could belong.

The girl? Her eyes opened in amazed joy too. Inside the chest lay a very old gold and diamond necklace which looked very expensive. She took the key and put it back on the chain.

Then she took the necklace to a place full of old jewellery. When she spoke to the old man in this room her eyes went wide with wonder. The key didn’t understand as it hung from the girls neck. It was happy.  It had achieved some sort of destiny for itself and that was that. The key had found peace and joy again.

It was placed within the lock of the chest and there… it stayed forever more.

THE WANDERING PICTURE

In the 90’s, there were always storys of strange things happening to innocent people. Whether these were dark and scary storys, or beautiful and innocent storys, each had one common link. They could not be explained or understood by human minds.

Of all the tales I know, one of my favourites has to be about a lonely 20 year old woman named Jenny. She was a strawberry blonde headed new grad who just wanted to show the men back then that a woman could in fact do something good… perhaps even great. Shestudied long and hard,and eventually her dream joining a huge law firm was realized. She was set for life.

As she grew in the company and outgrew many female and male colleagues, she realized she had a lot of savings and decided to buy a house somewhere close by. She had noticed a vacant place next to the park and to her surprise… it was still available. So she set a deoposit and moved in two weeks later.

Jenny was lonely. So she had to fill her ife with things which made her feel like she was not the only person in the world. She found a hooby. A collectors hobby. She liked to collect old and new picture frames and fill them with pictures of random men, women, children, and animals. All of these pictures held a person or family which looked very happy. But it did not take away her loneliness.

So she went out one weekend to find a really old picture frame, and a photo to go with it. She went by a lot of the good antique shops, and recommended places, but she found nothing she thought interesting in the slightest. But then she did.

As she walked home, contemplating her disappointment,she happened to find a shop she had never seen before. A small place, with very little in the window. She tried her luck. In she walked. She was greeted by an old man dressed in casual shorts and t-shirt. He smiled at her expectantly. ‘I am probably his only customer today’ thought Jenny.

‘Welcome’ the man said with a smile. He walked toward her and she felt a little intimidated by his closeness. She told him what she was looking for and he directed to the place where he kept all the photosand picture frames. Then he left her to look around.

She looked, seeing nothing which really interested her. Just as she was about to leavedissapointed again, the shopkeeper cameinwith another frame. This one already had a picture inside. Another old man, dressed in a black suit and tie, standing against a white background. Jenny had a few like this, but what got her was how sad the man looked in the picture. It broke her heart.

She bought it, hoping maybe the man in the picture and Jenny herself could learn to smile together. Well, no chance of a picture learning to smile, but the thought made Jenny laugh and it lifted her spirits a while.

She went home and hung the framed picture in her living room, above her unused fireplace, where it stayed for a few weeks, beforeJenny started to notice something very odd. In fact… it was the strangest thing shehadever seen.

She thought it might be the sleep in her eyes, so she splashed her face and went to look again. It was true. The old man in the picture had moved.His sad face was gone, replaced by aslight upturning of his lips. He no longer looked sad. Now he looked… interested? In something or someone just beyond the lense of the photo.

Jenny convinced herself it has always been like that. Her own lonely state had caused her to see another lonely person, but no. Nothing special about the picture. So she relaxed, had a shower, dressed, and went to work.

10 hours later, weary and longing for her bed, she had a mind to look atthe picture again, and what she saw terrified her. The slight smile was now a full grin, andmore than that. The old man’s hand was now raised as if in greeting. Jenny sprinted for her bedroom door, slammed it shut and dived under the blankets, convinced she would hear footsteps and then banging on the door.

But no. Only quiet. No footsteps. No banging. No noise at all, and she fell asleep, dreaming obeing chased by picture frames which wandered around her house at night.

Then it was morning. She had forgotten about the incident last night, and she got up to get ready for work. She passed the living room and saw the picture. The man had changed again. Now he was sitting in a chair, armsfolded. A smile made him seem younger by many years.

‘What do you want?!’ Jenny cried, but then felt stupid. She was screaming at a photo of a man. It seemed to be haunted but so far had made no move to harm her or her home. So she cautiously approached it, her fear dying, to be replaced by a curiosity she had alays had since a child. ‘What do you want?’ She whispered.

Nothing. No movement. No sounds. No nothing, and Jenny sighed. Maybe she was going crazy. Wandering pictures? Haunted frames? Nah. Time for work.

So she got ready and went to work. Another ten long hours and she walked into her home expectantly. Her fear was now gone, and she welcomed even a spiritual presence to tell her she as not alone. She smiled, looked at the frame, but the man was gone. The chair was stillthere, but no sign that anything else ever had been.

Jenny let out a choked sob. ‘Even the ghosts don’t want me around’ she thought. So she went to her room, and fell onto her bed. Tomorrow was a day off from work, so she lay on her bed in her work clothes and drifted off to a sleep without dreams. And she awoke feeling refreshed.

She sat up and stretched. almost screaming when she saw the picture frame was now on her bedroom wall. Fear nearly made her run, but curiosity caused her to approach the frame. The old man was and he was holding something. A piece of paper with an address on it. She knew now, the old man was trying to tell her something, or make her see something. Maybe unfinished business had caused his spirit to stay in this world and he wanted her help so he could move on.

So Jenny, having a day off after all, took the frame down, removed the photo, and decided to find the address. It was not too far from her place, in fact, she could walk there in probably twenty minutes. So she did, and she came to a small little house on a quiet street in the outskirts of the city. Yes, it was a small house, but it was clean, and that made it look bigger. White painted walls, and black roof tiles, made this small place a nostalgic home, and Jenny could almost feel the history.

Nervously she walked to the door. Looking for a doorbell, she found only a long cord, which she pulled. The sound which came out was pleasant. A recording of a violinist playing a sad melody. She waited one minute, two, then the door rattled open, and she was greeted by a man about her age with dark brown hair, small round glasses, and wearing white shorts and t-shirt.

‘Yes?’ He asked her pleasantly. But Jenny was nervous, almost forgetting why she had come in the first place. Then the man saw the photo in her hand and his eyes widened in surprise, then Jenny glimpsed a brief moment of pain, before it was hidden behind a forced smile.

So Jenny explained why she was here. She told him about her fascination for photos and frames, and how she had come across this one. The man invitedher inside for tea, and they talked for a little over two hours.

The man in the white shorts was Geoffrey, but please call me Geff. He explained that old man in the picture was his father,who had died 2 years ago of a massive heart attack. The picture in Jenny’s hand was the last one taken of him before the attack. Geff had moved from his fathers house to this one, since the memories of that place were happy ones, but painful, and had lost this photo to a random summer breeze. He thought he would never see it again.

Geff was a little freaked out by the fact the picture had been moving by itself, but intrigued. Here was this… incredibly beautiful woman around his own age. From what she had told him, she was still single and possibly lonely. So Geff done the most obvious thing. He took this meeting as his father’s last attempt to see his son happy, and he asked Jenny out for coffee.

Jenny too was almoststruck by how elegant this young man was. How he had been courteous and pleasant to her for the whole time they spoke. She accepted willingly, and three days later, they had their first date. Which went by with huge success.

First date turned to second, then third, then fifth, and pretty soon they were seeing each other every single day. Then six months later Jenny moved out of her apartment and into Geffs.

They slept in separate rooms, as Geff’s family had been practicing Christians, but they spent every other second with each other. 13 months after they first met, Geff proposed and Jenny almost fainted with happiness.

They were in Geff’s local church, which he and his father had attended after Geff’s mother passed, and 3 years later, Jenny gave birth to a healthy baby boy which they named after the man who brought them together. Henry.

The wandering picture was on the wall, but now it was always still. Jenny smiled every time she looked at it. What had been a simple trip to find a lonely picture, was now a fairy tale come true.

And the old man in the picture? Now he was permanently standing, joy on his face. A tear was in his eye, and a happy smile stuck there forever. But he was no longer lonely. Beside him hung a picture of the married couple on his left. And a picture of his grandson on his right.

The end

The Wandering Shoes

Shoes are a delicate thing. They come in many different shapes, sizes and colours. They are loved, hated, cared for and worn until they have many holes,  but they are a necessary everyday piece of clothing.

There was a boy. He had a pair of shoes given to him by his grandmother before she died. Oh he loved those shoes so very much that he wore them everywhere. School, playtime, even sometimes wearing them while he slept.

But… the boy was not very well liked by others at his school.  They didn’t like his shoes and made him feel unwanted and even sometimes very afraid. Until the boy would hide in his bedroom, holding the shoes and crying. Sometimes even hating his love for the shoes.

But, life goes on. The boy started to grow up, and pretty soon he could no longer fit the shoes onto his feet. This almost broke his heart, but he moved on, keeping the shoes in a cupboard where they slept for many years.

The boy turned 18, and he packed his bags to go to university. The shoes woke up, delighted to see the man the boy had become. They expected to be worn until the boy was old and retired. But… no. The boy was wearing new shoes. Fancy shoes. And his old shoes were sad as the boy swept up his clothes and shut the door, leaving his old friends in darkness. Forgotten.

The shoes would have cried, but they were just leather and lace. It could only sit there, hoping against hope that the boy would return. But the shoes never saw him again. And pretty soon, the noises of the other people in the house, where the boy had spent his child hood, died and then there was silence. The shoes were truly alone.

Years passed and the shoes slowly gathered dust. Their hope died. The laces became moth eaten and the leather started to become discoloured. The spirit of the shoes slowly died.

But one day the shoes were disturbed by a noise and their hope came back. It was the boy. Coming back to him again. But no. A voice started and it was the voice of a girl. A young girl by the sounds of it. The shoes tried to hide further into the shadows but they could not and pretty soon, a girl with messy hair, a dirty face, ripped clothes, and beautiful eyes, opened the cupboard and looked inside. The shoes saw she had nothing on her dirty feet, but then her beautiful eyes lit up as she saw a pair of old shoes in front of her.  She grabbed down the long lost boys shoes and tried them on. Perfect fit. She danced around the room in great joy. The shoes saw the girl’s feet had open and wounds and old scars so it tried to soften up the inside for her. Surely feet like this were honest and innocent feet.

She danced. She danced so joyously and wildly to have something which could take away the pain in her feet. Her innocence and beauty caused these old shoes to love who she was and slowly the shoes began to forget the boy and have a hope that went beyond anything they had ever felt.

The shoes danced.  Oh how they danced with this girl. They climbed highest hills, and walked through places the boy had even dared to dream about.

The girl, like the boy, grew up, and had to buy new shoes. But she the old ones maintained. They jam brought her far into her teen years. Had seen her through her toughest situations and helped her come through them.

Now… as she looked down at the shoes she had worn so many years… she cried. The shoes looked at her and wondered where their next journey together would be. But… the girl never wore the shoes again. They no longer fit her now healed feet. But she reimbursed them fondly, and had then placed permanently on the side of the mantelpiece in her new home.

She cleaned them regularly, but the shoes were old. Very old by now. They had nothing left to give. Nothing left of the spirit such inanimate objects are destined to have. They looked once more at the girl, who was so beautiful in her adult years as she was in her youth. The shoes spirit left them.  But they wondered in their last moments.

How much would they have missed in life? How little would they have known.

You will never know a person’s life if you don’t walk in their shoes. Apparently.