I woke up extra cranky from a night of shallow sleep to a military utility containter in a dark greyish green metal sitting in the study. It was slightly bigger and deeper than a 34" suitcase. Something that I'd appropriated from the Swiss army surplus.
I yanked off the lid and climbed inside, it was unsurprisingly spacious. I was told it was blast resistent but I was uncertain if I would be able to put that to test. I was admiring the functionality of it as a tiny casket when she barged in with a sort of indignation directed at me.
"Move your fat ass. I'm packing your shit."
"Whoa. Who hurt your feelings?" I had no fight left in me; I raised my arms in surrender and slowly climbed out of the box.
"I want to die," she said, sounding severely disappointed to walk this earth for another day.
And I ran out of clever one-liners. Reluctant, I turned to the pile of things that needed to be put out of sight. Things that I'd held onto for too long. Things that never belonged to me in the first place. Old things. Dead things. Things that were onced loved then hated; or vice versa.
One by one I placed them in the box.
"Don't you shed a fucking tear..." I whispered.
She crouched down next to me, her left palm covered her eyes, steadily pacing her breath. "Remember, you're ugly when you cry."
May this blast-proof box put your tormented soul to rest and shield me from your nightly howls.
