The Locket

Each anxious step became increasingly excruciating as she neared her destination. It wasn't just the weight of the locket that she was carrying around her neck, it was the coldness of its touch, which pierced through her skin and crept into her bones, circling her entrails till the only feeling she knew was a gut wrenching panic.

She wasn’t afraid of death, but she was afraid of dying before she accomplished the task that had been assigned to her, that of handing the locket over to its rightful custodian. The locket itself belonged to nobody; it could only be guarded until the time came when its powers would be needed no more on this earth. It was forged from the fire that burnt within the first human soul, and embedded within its tiny oval shaped form was the last remaining life source of humanity. Twelve such lockets were forged at the beginning of mankind, eleven of them perished during cataclysmic events over the centuries. The destruction of each locket marked the further descent of mankind into madness and depravity. She had the great burden of safely delivering the last remaining hope of her kind, the only thing that could redeem man and free him from the throes of delirium, to its custodian.

She moved quickly and stealthily under the secrecy of the night. She hoped that the darkness would camouflage the locket; she knew that enemies of humanity – her enemies – were out to get it before it reached its safe place. Throbbing with the fears and sorrows that preyed upon human minds, the joys and sorrows that kept humans going, the locket, however, had a radiance that the shadows of the night couldn’t conceal.

She walked now with the single-minded destination of reaching her goal. But she had had a long day and was tired. Sleep offered her tempting visions of rest…rest and calm. Its silken gossamer threads started overcoming her, binding her movements and fogging her mind. ‘No! No!’ she thought, ‘The temptation of the Enemy!’ Sleep was on their side, it was out to get the locket. She wrestled with drowsiness but could feel herself losing the battle...

It is morning. Daylight has dispelled the shadows of the night. Cars zip across the busy highway, blowing their horns to a grotesque melody. Nobody notices the middle-aged lady huddled up against the trees on the edges of the highway. She is not dead, merely asleep. The streaks of grey in her hair match the faded grey dress she has worn. She is bare of any jewellery save a rather dull, insignificant silver locket that hangs around her neck.