Jay sat at his desk in his home office. The room was tucked away in the back corner of the house. Like all such rooms, this one was packed with little used or ignored items. Winter clothes were stacked haphazardly on a futon, an old vacuum cleaner blocked a small closet, and the cat's litter box was tucked in the far corner.
The office was also chock full of nick knacks and useless sentimental items. A Star Wars beer stein from which no beer had ever been consumed. A Fort Knox safe that a child could easily break into. A tuning fork.
Picking up the tuning fork, Jay slapped it against his hand and held it to his ear. It rang at a frequency of 440 Hz, the musical note A above middle C. It was a beautiful sound, one that was familiar to him after listening to the resonance hundreds of times throughout his life.
The tuning fork was one of the few items he had no recollection of how he had come to own. It had been in his possession for nearly 30 years of his life, usually laying on a desk, but he had no idea where it came from.
I shut down my PC last night around midnight after doing some writing, Sitting in the dark, the moonlight glinted off my very own tuning fork. Like Jay, I have no idea where mine came from. I'm not musically inclined, and the only thing I know about the the device is that the most common forks sound the note of A = 440 Hz because that is the standard concert pitch.
The words above suddenly came to me, and I immediately put them down using old fashioned pen and paper. I can't say that the words are good or bad, and I certainly don't know where the narrative was going. It could be a boring opening to a boring story about boring Jay. Or maybe the tuning fork, when rung, opened a doorway into another dimension. I prefer the latter.
Never discard the ideas that come to you. True, I doubt I'll ever continue Jay's story. He'll most likely never uncover how he came into possession of the tuning fork. There may come a time, though, that the idea will be extremely useful.