Meg ran her hand over the smooth oak veneer. Her fingers caressed the intricate woodwork as she knelt down in front of the wood chest. Flattening her hand, she pushed her fingers between the ornately scalloped wood and the faded gray of what used to be multi-colored Nichol’s rug. Wiggling her fingers, she willed them to find the… Read More Friday Fiction – The Old Chest – Flash Fiction… Read More Friday Fiction – The Old Chest – Flash Fiction