Boxes
I live in a box. My box is comfortable. It has carpet and air conditioning and a soft bed. It even has holes in the side that I can see outside through. My box is full of boxes. I have a box where I sleep, a box where I eat, and a box where I take a shower. When I’m hungry, I go to my eating box and take food boxes out of my cold box and put them in my warm box. When I’m done, I put what’s left in the trash box. When I need distracting, I have a box that shows me pretty pictures. I have another box that I can write with or play games on. It even lets me talk to other boxes all over the world.
When I need to leave, I have a box with wheels that takes me places. Sometimes I go to the huge box full of boxes that sell all sorts of boxes for my box. Sometimes I go to the box that shows me more pretty pictures, except here they’re really big. But mostly I go to the box where I work for money to pay for all of my boxes. If I’m very lucky or very talented, maybe they’ll give me my own private box to work in some day.
Sometimes I take my box with wheels to the mountains. There I leave my box and walk far up, up into the trees, up above the boxes. Miles and miles I walk. Everything looks so different up here. Things are round and squishy and waving and flowing. Even the air feels different in my lungs. I feel so alive. Every time I come here, I wonder why I ever leave.
Then I get back in my box with wheels and it takes me back to the box I live in. It’s a comfortable box.
Copyright © 2003 Chris Stanley