A Simple Box

2010 Words5 Pages

It is just an ordinary box. It sits in the corner of the lonesome room, like a cactus on a desert floor, among normal things like a lamp, an alarm clock, and a holy bible. With the box sitting on top of it, I could see the brown perimeter of the bible, like one sees a church steeple in a bank of clouds. The family bible is passed from generation to generation, as evidenced by the cracked leather and brown, rough edges like a cowboy’s face and hands. It is unclear to any stranger why such a boring, plain box would cover something so important. I am surprised this lonely box is not embraced by my family book, intertwining it in its branches and lifting it into the sky as the family tree continually grows. The cardboard box is white; it is square, and insignificantly small, as all individual sand particles are on a beach. It is light, making me wonder if the contents have disappeared over the expanse of two years, never to be seen again. Each side has the words “Priority Mail” in white, atop a background of blue and red. Something about the word “priority” sends shivers down my spine, and a sense of dread crushes me. A price tag dubs the contents $5.25, and an address indicated the box to be sent to Carroll Veterinary Clinic of Hillsville, Virginia. The top of the box looks scarred, almost like it is suffering with the baggage of family hurt. It is easily seen with the eye that the box has only been opened once or twice, and this is why it seems of little value to outsiders. It is no longer protected with tape; the tape has long ago served its purpose and is instead replaced with the less-trustworthy art of flap-folding. Tape is like a sealant of ancient tombs of royalty, while flap-folding is for boxing up unidentifiab...

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... elbow grease. He slept more, and he lost weight from eating less and less. Eventually he looked so pitiful, it was all I could do not to cry every time I saw him. His pain was my pain, his suffering was my suffering. He struggled to do simple things like walk and jump. It was almost as if he was trying to hide the hurt from me, but I could see it in those intricate globes called eyes. The sparkle and color had been stolen from them and death crept its way not only to the soul of my cat, but to our entire household. That night sorrow and death knocked on our door, and released their unwanted wrath. Black smoke covered my eyes, and I reached out to Bazzle, but I knew it was already too late. Halos were a hidden comfort in his eyes, and he almost had a golden tint around him. I said, “I love you, Bazzle”, and he was carried out the door. He never came back.

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