Family Heirlooms
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All three of them were lined up on the shelf, not a spec of dust upon them. Their ink in varied states of age. One crisp and clear, looking as if it had printed just the day before. The second faded and its lettering just visible, helped along by the foreknowledge of what used to be there. The third was somewhere in between, just teetering on the edge of well-loved and artifact status. One is wrapped in a matte sleeve, the other two have long since been lost. The fabric that pulls the yellowing pages together is dry and cracked, fraying in places, and makes a delightful creaking noise when delicately opened. The texture rough against your fingers, that is unless carefully placed in the exact correct spot, long ago worried soft.


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