=innocencedied2nite back with this weeks Writer's Spotlight.

Every once in a while (when I have the time) I get the chance to lurk the newly submitted pieces. Amongst the multitudes of poems, fanficts and chapter stories, something will inadvertently catch my eye. I found this to be so a few days ago. Just the first sentence was all that it took to have my curiosity perked. So this week's spotlight shines on a deviant whom I am newly enthralled with.

~hennijenni

::

The Key

The descriptions and mood of this piece is so interesting and yet, familiar. And the ending... well, read it and see!

[link]

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Anya tried to remember who had given her the key. Small and ornate, she could not imagine how it had ended up underneath the itchy “Welcome!” mat outside her blue-paint-chipped front door, anyhow. Or how it had apparently banished her only house key from its very resting place under the mat's “W”, taking it for its own. Laying delicately in Anya's palm, the golden key suddenly felt powerful. The situation could not have been more strange when the dark cloud decisively settled just above her roof. Sitting innocently on her doorstep, tugging on the shimmering locket dangling from her pale neck, Anya did not expect her new possession to unlock anything useful, like her house's front door for example. So, she deemed the key a useless antique.
As strange days often call for inclement weather, the first drop descended to the earth, crashing onto Anya's left cheek as her gaze traveled skyward. Anya, who would have rather had a sturdy ceiling, a warm blanket, and a thick book between her and the determined raindrops, glowered at the cursed key.
“You, sir, have hardly been courteous at all! And all this time I've been locked out of my own house!” she admonished. But still, the key glittered on in all its dignity.
As the key stared back at her, Anya pondered how such an ordinary day could have gone astray. She had pulled her socks onto her left and right feet respectively, meticulously ran a hairbrush through her familiar charcoal locks forty-five times, and had been most particular about placing her freshly shined glasses onto a very freckled nose. She could be very sure that it was not a missed dirt spot on her glasses causing this bad luck, but the fact that her life had become so routine and unsurprising wet her eyes.
Anya quickly captured a fugitive teardrop with the nail of her index finger, then let it slowly crawl down her hand until is escaped into her fleecy, red jacket. Despite the stealthy movement, the key had witnessed the tear's disappearance and decided to take matters into it's own hands. It simply plucked itself from the hand that had not assisted the tear, reached up, and unlocked the sky.
The clouds let out a long-held breath that made Anya's freckles hold on for their lives and her locket cling to her throat. Thousands of imaginary buckets busied themselves with their own emptying overhead while Anya attempted to keep a grasp on her sanity, which was rapidly deteriorating.
“What's happening?” she screeched into the howling wind, at which point she noticed the key floating in midair, as if there were no storm at all, let alone gravity. The key seemed to omit a warm glow, like it was welcoming Anya to embrace it in her palm once more.
As she stretched an arm toward the radiating key, it fell gently into her hand. The storm suddenly reduced itself to a sedated drizzle, then faded away completely.
When Anya's mother rolled her car into the driveway seconds later, this was how she found her daughter: fist in the air and dry as a tumbleweed.
“What in the world are you doing, Anya?”
“Mom, look at this key!” After uncurling her tightly clenched fingers, Anya revealed the key to her mother's extremely confused face.
“That would be our house key, Anya. Which you might have used to get inside instead of running around brandishing it in the front yard,”
Dazed, Anya dropped her eyes to her hand and there heavily, not daintily at all, lay an ordinary, everyday metal key.
An hour later, Anya peeked out from her window into the vast sky, searching for some evidence of the tiny key's huge storm. Her face lit up as she saw a small, but inky cloud amidst the sea of clear blue. A sudden golden sparkle on the ground caught her eye and in a blink she was investigating the lawn.
It was but her locket, fallen off in the storm earlier! The locket lay open in a tuft of new grass, when no tool in her house could have pried it open before. Slowly, she reached down and discovered a luminous, golden key, just tiny enough to fit into the locket's chamber.
Tomorrow, Anya will not count how many times she runs a brush through her hair.


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It has been a pleasure spotlighting this deviant this week. Thanks for participating in this week's feature. Be sure to stop by her pages, as she have so much more to offer!


I hope everyone's week is rockin'! Let those creative juices flow and send them into us!
And as always, we are looking for new entries. So spread the word around. Or note us with someone you would like to
see spotlighted.