The key lay in the palm of my hand, metal and skin together. On this summer's day there was a warmth to it, and the light played gently over the curves. With a spark of joy I let my fingers curl around it.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 9, 2019.

The keys lay on the sidewalk in that way they do when dropped from a height, like they are straining to take the from of an ink blot. Sarah almost stepped right on them before stopping and scanning the street for their owner. Besides a deer that was eating her neighbours dutch tulips, not a whole lot was going on. The street was rain kissed like it always is in the late winter and the trees were just as bare as they'd been the day before. She picked them up feeling their coldness, but that didn't tell her much. The heat drains from metal fast. She turned them over, one was for a car, the others likely a home. Someone should have missed them, or maybe they did but couldn't find them. With a sigh she headed back into her house, displeased with this new complication.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 5, 2015.

Once there was a treasure box with a key hole and no-one knew where the key was. Part of the problem was that in this strange world things that looked like keys would often either crumble to the touch or else burn fiercely leaving an ugly scar. Everyone wanted the key, they had some good hints about what it might be and they were often confused as to why it hadn't been found...

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, April 24, 2015.

Authored by Daisy, here.