Warm, stale air floated from within the locker.  The shadows contained many secret things; things which were made to be invisible, as if nothing were there.

On one of the top shelves was an apple, partially eaten.  It lay upon a notebook with scribbles.  A child's, a happy teenager, it didn't matter.  Many pages were gone, used by an artist or an inspired writer or made into paper airplanes.

Another shelf yet higher held nothing.  The space was filled, overfilled even, with that nothingness, to the point of spilling it's unseen contents.  The air was different.  It had to be one of those invisible things.

I diverted my attention to the bottom of the locker.  As hard as I tried, the coathangers, the walls, could not be seen, the darkness being too thick.

I decided to let it go at that.  To ignore what was hiding in those shadows, and be content with what I had seen.

The unseen tems at the top would someday become part of reality, but not today.  Everything shows it's true self sooner or later; but I, to this day, cannot see the invisible things.