Found

When you see it it’s wrapped around the bent corner of a sorry looking chain link fence. As is the case with most found trinkets, it could be something, but it could also very well be nothing. You aren’t as good at separating the junk from the treasure as Ashni is. Ashni’s neighbor is a Forer so they have a better idea of what to look for.

The joints in your fingers protest as you work to unwind the necklace’s chain from where it’s knotted itself around a tie in the fence. Although you’re more dexterous than many others these days, the stiffness in your digits and the grind of bone on bone in your knuckles makes the task of extricating the delicate thing a slow and painful one. You grit your teeth against a sharp twinge in your right index finger that’s accompanied by an off-putting popping noise as you finally wrestle the piece of jewelry free.

You’re holding a silver necklace with a heart-shaped pendant in your left hand. It’s rather plain, but intricacy doesn’t seem to be a factor where value is concerned, from what you’ve seen. You frown at it. Could be something. Could be nothing. You’ll have to get it in front of Ashni. You shut your eyes tight against the agony of straightening back up to standing from the squatting position you’ve been in. It had better be something. It’s been months since you’ve had any relief.

Locating Ashni only takes a moment. You opt to turn your whole body as you search for their mop of red hair rather than test your already aching neck. You whistle to get their attention and they look up from the grassy field they’ve been searching. Too quickly, you guess, from the way they wince immediately.

You try to convey with your facial expression that you’ve found something. There’s no one around that you can see, and what you’re doing isn’t technically illegal, but anyone with half a brain knows there’s only one reason to be snooping around for remnants of the ForeEra. While there’s no law against picking up vestiges of the bygone times, there certainly is one against exploiting Forers’ nostalgia for the past in order to barter found items for pain meds.

Central allots more pills to Forers, though, on account of their age. Supposedly the grating of joints and gnashing of muscles and tendons caused by the Fluke are felt more acutely by the small population of people over thirty. It still seems unfair to you. Unfair because, while it may be true that Forers are in more pain than younger people, you’ve seen for yourself how happy they can be made by a reminder of their childhood. Happy enough to give up their pills readily. You can’t imagine a thing on this earth that you would trade pills for. If Forers want to, then they should be allowed to, you think.

Just six months ago you traded a tattered piece of paper for an entire bottle. The page had had nothing more on it than a picture of a man with glasses in some kind of cloak and the name “Harry Potter” written underneath. Forers go nuts for that stuff. There’s no telling what they’ll like, though, unless you know them. They’re a maddeningly selective bunch.

Ashni has appeared at your side and you tilt your hand to give them a better look at what you’ve found. Ashni’s frown mirrors yours and that seems like a bad sign. Then they speak.

“What’s that along the edge? Is it broken?”

You see what they’re talking about. The heart pendant seems to be split around the perimeter as if it’s two separate pieces put together. Nothing would break that cleanly, though.

“I think it opens,” Ashni posits.

You shoot them an incredulous look out of the corner of your eye. Something this small? Upon closer inspection, though, it does appear to have two miniscule hinges sticking out of one side. The concept is absurd to you. You know that, before the Fluke, people could do more with their hands. You’ve seen evidence of that in other finds (a pair of pants that closed with a button, a spoon with a handle so thin you would have to close your fist almost all the way to hold it), but a two inch pendant that’s also a tiny door? Outrageous!

A flicker of hope alights inside of you at the thought. Surely there must be something precious inside, then, right? You can’t imagine what could be small enough to keep inside this tiny vessel, but you suppose it isn’t anything inconsequential. Of course, not everything that was valuable in the ForeEra is still valuable now, but you like your odds. But how to get it open? Maybe, if the angle was right, and with the right amount of weight applied…

As if they’re reading your mind, Ashni asserts “We can’t crush it. That might break whatever’s inside.” They make an annoyingly good point. You let out a defeated sigh and, with as much precision as you can manage, begin to bring your rigid right thumb towards the seam of the pendant.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Ashni murmurs unhelpfully as you fight the tremor and the ache to finally slot your thumbnail into the barely-there gap between the two pieces of metal.

You apply just a little pressure at first, thinking maybe it won’t take much. It doesn’t yield. You press more, every ounce of your concentration going into holding the delicate object steady in your grip. Hot pain shoots up your thumb and into your palm and you’re beginning to feel a throb in your left hand from holding still for so long. Still, the seam doesn’t split. Ashni is silent next to you and you can feel their wide-eyed gaze trained on the necklace.

Beads of sweat are starting to prick on the back of your neck and you know that you shouldn’t push further. The thin bones in your hands are more brittle than any others in your body and they’re positively creaking in disagreement with what you’re putting them through. But you’re sure that if you just press a little harder the small metal heart will crack open and reveal something magnificent. How could it not?

Shutting out the pain, you apply just the tiniest increase in pressure. It’s the tipping point and the pendant gives way suddenly, cleaving open. Without the resistance to keep it in place, your right thumb jabs into the palm of your left hand and a sickening crunch accompanies your own, high-pitched yelp. You drop the necklace to the ground as you pull both hands in tight to your body, already noting the gruesome angle at which your thumb now juts out.

Tears are streaming down your face as you swallow down the groan that is clawing its way up your throat. Ashni is already making the torturous journey from standing to stooping, reaching after the dropped trinket. They scoop it up with a jerking motion and hold it in both palms. They study it and then their gaze shifts to you, taking in your quaking form. They don’t say ‘I told you so’.

“It’s pictures. Of people,” they say instead.

Your heart clenches. Could be something. Could be nothing.

“Is it Harry Potter?” you ask, daring to hope for as much.

Ashni shakes their head. “No. Just normal people. I…” they eye your damaged hand, “I don’t think it’s anything. I’m sorry.”

You let one, choked sob escape your lips, your face scrunching up in anguish that’s equally physical and emotional. You risk a glance down at your right hand and it’s clear to you that your thumb is now useless. Pain is searing through the entire appendage as you drop your arm to your side and set your jaw tight. Your shoulders click threateningly as you square yourself and face Ashni again.

“Let’s keep looking.”