The Trinket Box

By Abigail

No one ever gave me a name. I live in here quietly waiting. I wait until someone opens the box and then up I go. I stand on my tip toes and I twirl around and around.

My dress was pretty once but the sparkles have faded because a century has passed since I was placed in this box. My trinket box, with its tiny lock and key has held many memories which I have kept safe. Some were happy and some were sad reminders of the harm people do.

I was a gift from Anabelle’s Daddy before he went to fight somewhere. She kept her letters safe in our trinket box. After a while the letters stopped arriving. She had a picture of her Daddy smiling, it made her cry. Annabelle got bigger but I stayed the same, our box became home to another picture. A handsome boy, this picture did make her happy.

Annabelle gave me to Mary, her Granddaughter. Mary liked to read stories to me. Sometimes Mary had to keep the light off and the sky would light up with red fire. It seems that people did not learn much from the last war and Mary’s house was destroyed by the fire in the sky.

Elizabeth found me lost amongst the broken bricks. One lovely thing in the ruins made by angry men. Elizabeth loved a man with silly hair, called Elvis. She played his records and we twirled together. Grown-ups can be so dark while their children can be happy just twirling to the songs of someone they have never met.

Years passed and Elizabeth grew “sensible” and kept her treasures in the bank. Luckily her daughter Poppy didn’t go to the bank so I once again had a collection of treasures. Badges about flowers, peace and beetles. I think that Poppy was good for the world.

One treasure was a little man called Neil in a puffy white suit. Poppy told me that he had flown through the sky in a rocket and walked upon the moon. Finally people had stopped their fighting and reached for the stars!

Poppy grew up. She liked a Princess called Diana and she kept newspaper clippings of her lovely wedding clothes. One day she threw them all away. People had chased the Princess for her picture had caused a terrible accident. Poppy said she would never keep such pictures again.

Poppy’s daughter Rose keeps her treasures on a tiny phone. She takes pictures of the world on her phone and keeps her memories there. It’s a shame that Rose doesn’t keep her memories in my trinket box.

I have seen what makes my little girls happy and I have seen their sadness too. The light and the darkness have all spent time here in this trinket box, with me.

Perhaps one day Rose might remember me, give me to her daughter and we can twirl together. I might even be given a name.