Her Chicken Scratch / Short Stories

The stale Box

The stale Box

I peered out the hole in my cardboard box. Looking for something new, I guess. To my dismay no new tree’s had sprouted up over night in the cold parking lot, and there was no UFO’s waiting to take me away. But I did hear something new, something I haven’t heard before. Gunfire. It echoed through the air, cracking the stillness that I loved. I tried to look farther then my eyes were capable, but my knees were pulled so tightly to my chest that I couldn’t move around much to expand my view. I even slept in this position, inside this stale cardboard box that muffled my screams.

I’ve been here for as long as I remembered, it used to be a childhood fort I’d go to. Now, it’s what I am. I heard more shots fired and I wondered if I could do anything to help? At the very least I could be a human shield. I heard shrieks of pain and asked myself if my legs would have enough strength to run to them? I don’t think I’ve stood in centuries. I’m sure my muscles would need to be dusted off, but I shouldn’t waste my time thinking about getting out. I was never going to. I glanced once more through the hole in my box and imagined what the people’s faces would look like. Would they be round, long, small or heart shaped? I don’t know, probably all. A few of the shots sounded like they were growing closer until I felt an overwhelming urge to tuck my head down into my arms at the exact time the next bullet sang through the air and hit my box straight on.

There it crumbled. To the gravel ridden parking lot. I held my position, feeling my heart pump anxiety to my thin veins and I stood. For the first time. I was taller then I’d imagine, and fatter then I thought. I stretched my right leg, then my left and around I bent my neck, rubbing it with my left hand. For once I didn’t have to smell the bits of exhausts as the cars hurried by or the rotting trash. But I could smell the whole of the world; it’s draft as it slowly spins beneath my feet – the almost fresh air. I felt wonderful. And suddenly the distance at which the people and shooters were didn’t seem so far away so I ran to them. Feeling the dust break and cascade off my body. I quickened my pace, and saw six people standing in a circle. Each held a gun.

I rushed up to the group, breathing heavy, and forcing myself to find the sound in my voice.  “Hello!” I said, “I’m here to help!”. But no one replied, not a single soul glanced in my direction. There grim eyes hard with content as they locked and re-loaded. Shooting something I didn’t know was there. “Can I do anything?” I screamed, tears welling in my eyes, over spilling down to my cheeks. I stomped, I clapped but no one moved, they didn’t even flinch. It was then I realized that they unintentionally freed me; they didn’t even know I was there, and they don’t know I’m here. They can’t see me, I am invisible to them.

Does that make me unreal?

Written by Alecia Writes 

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