Eloise

Eloise could just barely see the silver tip of the key, but the grate was bolted down on both sides, making it impossible to open. She had already tried three times to fit her hand through the metal grooves, pinching her fingers in the same way she did when trying to get the cherry at the bottom of her favorite drink, but the slots were too small. It wasn’t the first time she had lost her house key, not even close. And as she stood up, wiping at the criss-cross indents in her knees, she could picture her father when he arrived home to find her on the bench swing, still in her school clothes, and this is when her stomach began to hurt.