His Memory

Years of dust covered the large wooden chest. It sat helplessly in the corner of the old attic which had been vacant for so long. You could still see the signature carved into the heavy lid, like a scar, visible even under all that dust. It was beautiful really. Once you looked past the cobwebs and smudges that lay over every inch of space, the trunk was exquisite. Detailed engravings traced up the wood, like ivy, inching its way to the top. The etched name only made it more of a spectacle, one that didn't deserve a life of solitude in this forsaken place. The small area around it was littered with debris and old trinkets, like the broken wooden rocking horse and an antique oil lamp. They could have been there forever, forgotten, but not the chest. It gave off the appearance of being used not long ago, the layer of grime thinner on this particular piece, though it still had an ancient atmosphere about it.

The box was whispering spells to the still air, something truly magical waiting within. The lock that rested silently at the base of the lid was rusted, yet still strong enough to keep the treasure chest secured. No such presence could escape the stronghold of the trunk. Wrought iron of darkest gray held the pieces of oak in place, forming what seemed like a solid block of sturdiness. To the touch, it would have been warm, from some unknown heat pulsating inside. After years of blank feeling, the box began to shake. It was vibrating with a rhythmic purr, as if there was an animal trapped inside. If you were to look closely, you would see the rays of amber light, pushing their way through the tiniest cracks. Something was happening.

The lock was slowly turning, the faint murmur of noise loud for the attic's memory. The old furniture and ghostly beings seemed to turn and look at the glowing chest, curiously waiting. What treasure could ones eyes not see? It seemed to relieve the other figures to see the contents within the chest finally being put to use. If the others were to glance through the small round windows in the darkness, they would see the face of a girl, staring back through the tinted glass. Her large smile made the box vibrate louder than ever, finally bursting open, showering the old attic with warmth and sparks of light. It was like an amber waterfall cascading throughout the room, flowing over every memory. For the first time in his life, the boy with the fading memories fell in love.