short fiction · 2026-10-07

Echoes in Amber

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

I brushed aside the dusty jars and lifted the vellum box, its lid warm from decades of hidden breath. Inside lay a small, tarnished key that fit no lock I knew. A sudden rush of cinnamon, rain‑soaked pine, and faint lavender filled the attic, and for a heartbeat I was back at my grandmother's kitchen, hearing her hum as she sliced apples. The scent lingered, pulling fragments from childhood afternoons, a perfume that seemed to stitch time together. When I exhaled, the room felt charged with a quiet reverence, as if the air itself were rehearsing a melody only the nose could recall.