Patiently you wait for me to come home to you-with such care I've collected you, my only true friends, beautiful and pure in your shiny glass bowl.
Caleb opened the door softly so as not to disturb his father. His treasure was tucked away carefully in his coat pocket, wrapped in plastic to keep it pure until he could add it to his collection. He closed the door behind him and tiptoed across the living room to the back bedroom. His keys rattled as he took them from his pocket-his hands were trembling a little. Sliding the key into the lock, he gave a quick twist and pushed. The door slid open on its oiled hinges, revealing his sanctuary, his secret lair, his holiest of holies.
He took a step into the room and closed the door behind him. It would not do to let his father wander in here, so he kept the door locked at all times. No one must come in here-this room was for him and his treasures only, so he could admire them at his leisure. It was his little secret.
He pulled the tightly wrapped parcel from his coat pocket and carefully undid the rubber band around the plastic bag. Holding his hand out flat, he slid the contents of the bag onto his bare palm, shivering at the feel of them-soft and smooth and wet as eels. He examined them-each pair was different, and the more he collected the more he came to appreciate the subtle variations-the singular shades of blue, or brown, or-his favorite-hazel.
He looked at the pair in his hand. They were blue, but not a deep ocean blue-more of an aquamarine blue, with a greenish tinge to them. They were on the large side, and if he looked closely enough he could see tiny flecks of gold at the edges of the irises. Yes, these were nice, very nice-definitely a worthy specimen to keep the others company.
He sighed with pleasure. Carefully he lifted the lid of the glass jar on the middle shelf of the bookcase and added his trophies to the ones floating in the jar. Come to me, my pretty ones, my little jewels, my windows to the soul. They stared out at him-perhaps they were severed now from their souls, or maybe-just maybe-the souls lived behind them still.
He heard his father coughing in the other room-a bitter, grating sound. He replaced the lid on the jar and slid it back into the bookshelf. He would go to his father now, safe in the knowledge that he had yet another secret to keep from him.