Today’s word is: Hair
“What is that?” Someone scrutinises the locket I hold in the palm of my hand. I instantly clench my fingers round it, hiding it’s already revealed existence. “I said, what is that?” They ask again.
“Nothing, just a locket.” I say and turn away from them. They grip my shoulder and spin me round.
“Why do you have a locket?”
“Because,” I said, recalling the contents of the metal pendant. “It’s all I have left of her.” They look at me confused and then leave.
Alone, I reveal the locket once more. This time I open the locket, revealed a lock of black hair; soft as the day it was cut.