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In the depths of love there is a single thing. A reminder, a memory, a long lost day in the sun with your hand tightly grasped by another’s and you are no longer alone that is was the locket always was.
By D. S. Nightingale on 10.11.2014
In the depths of love there is a single thing. A reminder, a memory, a long lost day in the sun with your hand tightly grasped by another’s and you are no longer alone. That is what the locket always was.
this was my first one
Shana wore the locket around her neck always, always, always. In the shower. In gym class she wedged it safely into the top of her sports bra so it wouldn’t swing and smack her skin as she ran. Inside was a clipping of a boy from a magazine–no one famous. She had no one real to love and think of. Just a boy with a nice smile, a kind smile. She imagined his name was Ben, a name made of warm laundry and cookies and milk.
By Yona on 10.11.2014
I want to be trapped in a picture around your neck,
Even if I cease to exist from this world,
And the next.
Living for all eternity enclosed in your breast,
Stalling for time by your heart,
I can think of nothing more exquisite or worthwhile.
Living life as a memory, my world is malleable, and frighteningly limitless.
By Siege URL on 10.11.2014
I saw the locket around her neck and drew my breath in sharply. She didn’t notice – flipping through her texts on her iPhone, she looked so much like her mother, it was uncanny. I fought hard against the growing rock in my throat – I could never have imagined the impish 5-year-old who sang Britney and shimmied around our old apartment would be the exact replica of my best friend – feminist, artist, woman of all trades – who disappeared almost two years ago to the day. God how I missed her.
By Ayesha_A on 10.11.2014
It hung from the chain, lifeless and empty. The energy that had spilled out from the locket was gone now, washed away into the continual ebb and flow of the universe, hanging just out of sight, just out of reach for most people. As it had poured out of the little golden trinket, the room had come alive.
By Ezri on 10.11.2014
The locket was the only thing she had left of her mother and grandmother. she had been raised by her father for most of her life and held on to her family the only way she knew how. by holding the locket to her lips whenever she felt sad or alone.
By feliciadelaawesome URL on 10.11.2014
The locket my grandmother had sent me lay on the bed, surrounded by endless letters, dating back to before I was born. Just thinking about that made my head hurt.
By Samantha URL on 10.11.2014
The locket hung loosely around my neck as I paced around the large, open plan dining room. It had been a gift from my grandmother for my sixteenth birthday.
By Samantha on 10.11.2014
It was cold in my hand, slightly heavy, if you will. The clink of the diamonds against passing objects as it dangled from my fingers was sharp, and I wondered why this item was so familiar, yet so unfamiliar, at the same time.
By Monica on 10.11.2014
it was a hinge
i wasn’t certain the physics would work out
but never doubt earth and nature,
the crack when the shell shattered
was enough to make me lose my shit.
By Kairn on 10.11.2014
a working list of things i want to share with you sits by my bed
you were the first person to touch me
i still feel you in my dreams
i think about kissing you on new years
the lipstick stains, flushed cheeks
i think about your smiling eyes
as you dry mine i feel restless.
requiem plays in the backround
and i start to feel empty again,
a new year, a new day
starting out whole and ending emptier and emptier
you were never mine and most importantly i was never yours
By Hayden on 10.11.2014
Locket- hide memories and open them at a convenient time. Reviewing all those fun times you had with a special one.
By cuppycake on 10.11.2014
Clasped to her breast, rising fervently with every thrust. Her scream muffled my own groan of displeasure.
The mans grey eyes stared at me from the tiny picture and made me sick.
I ran out.
By andrew on 10.11.2014
“That’s…” It felt like my tongue was swelling to twice its size in my mouth. I pointed a lazy, yet shaking, finger. “That’s my aunt’s locket.”
Eli smiled. “I know,” he said. “I found it at Grandma’s house, before she passed. She’d be holding onto it for a long time.”
I swallowed, hard. I could hear a slightly audible squeak against my teeth. “It’s been so long since…”
“Yes.” I could see the tears backing up in Eli’s eyes.
By Belinda Roddie URL on 10.11.2014
I couldn’t believe it. They’ve been gone for a year already. I stared down at the locket in my hands. This was the last thing mother had given me before she died. She looked happier in thos picture than she had in the past year, lying aimlessly in a hospital bed.
By Mel on 10.11.2014
It was hanging from her neck the first time I saw her. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, and my first instinct was to natch it and run. It was gold with silver engravings of doodles and sketches, it looked like it must’ve costed a fortune. I was in love with the locket. As I studied it more intensely, I realized it was plastic, on a toddler’s neck, my dreams crushed.
By Cara on 10.11.2014
The locket was cold in his hands. The silver gleamed in the dim light of the attic. A whisp of smoke floated out of the clasp. He had freed a devilish force.
By tessa on 10.11.2014
I never was one for necklaces. I would look at them, think ‘my god, that’s pretty’. Sometimes I would buy them, although I had stopped doing so a while ago (it cost too much money) because I would never, ever wear them. I might hook them around my neck, but then I would consider for a moment, and take them off again. It didn’t seem sensible to wear them.
But this locket, I could not let go of. Although I could not wear it, my hands would tangle in the chain and twist the heart-shaped pendant and open and close it again and again. My hands were always occupied with it, and it sat on my bedside table when I slept. For some reason, I could not let go, any more than I could let go of the person who could give it to me.
Why? I had let go of everything, everyone else.
By a terrible poet on 10.11.2014
The locket had been given to me already inscribed with an H. Only the women who bear the name are to wear it. You crack it open though, and it’s empty. We never wear it. Maybe it’s because our hearts won’t be contained for fear of confinement. I don’t know. I didn’t get to know the last bearer very well. And of those who came before her, I can only question those left in a line that’s quickly vanishing like vapor. So snap it open in the sunlight and watch the light bounce back at you from the inside. That’s all you have to go off of. Maybe we’re just a line of repeating reflections. A variation on an old thing, one to the next. Yet if you look at the gold for what it is, it all culminates in a dewy glow when examining the swirl pattern of the metal. It comes off feeling warm for all the light bouncing off its brushed texture. I guess I should put a picture in it, but alas, I might not be an exception to the rule. What use do I have for a locket when I have no secret to keep?
By Intuition on 10.11.2014
At the sound, her hand flew to her throat, fingers clasping around her locket so tightly she was sure the design would embed itself on her pal. There was no real protection, no magical respite, the aged gold could offer, but the familiar feel of cold metal against her flushed skin was a cure of a different kind; just touching it and she could feel her frantic heart begin to settle.
By S.C. Lovelace on 10.11.2014
It hung from my neck, a heavy and comforting weight between my collar bones. It’s funny how a cold piece of metal can offer so much warmth. I reached up and my hand closed around it, a nervous habit. If there was a time I needed strength, a time for comfort, that time was now.
By Hazel Lancaster on 10.11.2014
She kept it on a chain around her wrist instead of her neck; that way it felt her pulse, soft against its metal, and if infinity passed it would leave the smallest dent in its silver curve.
By Antoinette Sugar on 10.11.2014
The locket was special to her. It wasn’t one of those things that was passed along in her family, no, it was something she found in the hallway at school. Usually, she would take something like that to a lost and found, but it seemed important. She didn’t know why.
By Cat on 10.11.2014
“Who’s was it?” Merlin asks, gently, reaching for it. Arthur brushes him off roughly.
“It was my mother’s,” he snaps, knocking his hand out of the way. Merlin recoils as if burnt, drawing his fingers close to his chest. Arthur’s eyes soften a little. “Er. Sorry. It’s just…precious to me, is all.”
“I got it,” he said sulkily, cradling it to his breast. “As you so rudely confirmed.”
By robot aesthetic on 10.11.2014
I give this to you, this heart shaped locket… because, that’s all I could ever give. Sure, it’s cheesey, but it still means exactly what you’d think it means. It may not be much. It may look gaudy. It may look cheap. It may look dreadful… but, it still means I love you.
So, please, wear it around your heart and think of me.
By Iceman on 10.12.2014
i held the mass of gilded bronze in my hands, peered into the images. tried to see you inside. tried to find some semblance of the way things used to be, patch over the memories of you leaving and repeat the ones where you were still here, so that it would be like you never did leave. saw myself instead. saw myself instead.
By sunnysuraj on 10.12.2014
The locket hung down, resting perfectly atop her bosom. Drawing men’s attention. Mingling, she found she thought of the lock of hair she kept snuggled in the locket. He had given her the locket, just before he died. He had placed it with dying fingers into her beautiful palm, the ones he’d kissed so often, the ones… NO, she couldn’t, wouldn’t think of him… nor the way he died, crying out softly, gasping for breath in her arms, as her tears fell on his handsome face, the face of her salvation, the face that condemned her to this position. But she would never, ever regret the short time she had with him.
By Rachel on 10.12.2014
you’re bleeding on the ground, half-conscious and raving, but the sight of the small accessory triggers something in your mind, despite the blade through your eye.
[locket… locket locket locket locketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlocketlockitockit lockit lock-it lock it lock locklocklocklocklocklocklocklock]
it’s incredibly silly; trivial (almost ridiculous in a situation like this), but you are only aware of one thing (other than the pain [painpainmyeyepainithurtssomuchpain]) in the few minutes you have left.
you left the door unlocked.
By laze on 10.12.2014
Я багато читав про різні медальйони, де один закоханий, скажімо, зберігав зображення милої, чи її ДНК у вигляді пучка волосся (або іншого днк-вмісного фрагмента), однак ніколи не зустрічав таких — лише фотки в гаманцях, або, як у мене, на телефоні.
By mykolan on 10.12.2014
The man staggered along the rocks, tightly clutching his only memoir of times past. His loving wife, his two happy children, his successful career and everything else.
He finally collapsed as the rising water swallowed the ledge he was standing on.
By betaveros on 10.12.2014
Six months had passed since that day. Nana had tried to convince her mother to let her see her father one more time, but her mother was livid when she even suggested it. The only thing she had managed to keep that connected her with her father was a locket he had bought her on a trip to Tokyo Tower when she was about seven years old. She kept it hidden from her mother, so that she could not take it away. She had taken everything else…
By tonykeyesjapan URL on 10.12.2014
The image of the locket haunted him, and it was all that he could think of. He had to find it. He had to. It was the only thing his mother had left him. It was the only thing that he could tie to his past.
He needs it to find himself. He needs it to live.
By I_have_no_words on 10.12.2014
The grandmother sat rocking in her chair with her granddaughter on her lap. She reached up to look at the locket around her neck. When she opened it she saw an old photo of her grandparents when they were young hugging under a tree.
By marylou wynegar URL on 10.12.2014
It was an old, tarnished thing, now covered in dirt, forgotten in the stash of stolen jewellery. But she recognised it. The picture inside was of a curly-haired woman with rosy cheeks. And it was her eyes she recognised: one brown, one hazel. She knew who to return it to.
By falderal on 10.12.2014
Her locket dangled in front of her, just a few inches away from her bruised face by the person she hated the most of all: her sister. Incredibly, her sister had given her the locket, promising it as a sign of good will until she realized who Emerald was planning to frame inside of it.
By Amanda on 10.12.2014
The tears flew down her face as she fled into her room.
The door slammed shut.
Her hands found the silver chain around her neck, grasping onto it.
Her nimble fingers worked around the locket, attempting to open it.
The pictures made her heart clench with agonizing pain.
There they were, laughing, playfully shoving each other.
She tugged the beautiful locket off her neck, and threw it to the other side of the room, underneath her bed.
What has become of them now….
Three words was all it took to ruin what had taken years to make.
I hate you.
By MaybeIWillBeSomeoneOneDay on 10.12.2014
a division of Identity Crisis, Inc.