But here's the little drabble I came up with:
The Charred Heart
On his way back from work on a grey Wednesday, Mr. Johansson discovered he had misplaced his heart.
Feeling hollow, he slumped in his bland Ikea chair at his bland Ikea table and thought about when he had last used it, but couldn’t remember.
Determined, he searched and finally found one piece tucked inside his favorite book, another in the jar of gingersnaps, some shards at his father’s grave, and a few charred pieces stuck to his work jacket.
He glued them together and stuck the singed little heart into his chest.
It wasn’t much, but he’d make it grow.