A cube sits alone on a table in a silent room. Not the prettiest table, three legged and chipped red paint. The cube its self isn’t that fabulous either; solid; wooden, could be maple or maybe cherry. It sits there everyday all by its self nobody to talk to. Then one day the cube starts to quiver, starts to shake. It bounces around, dangerously wobbling the three-legged table. It teeters closer to the edge with every movement. It smashes onto the cool concrete floor. It cracks and a party of noises burst out from within the silent cube. An explosions of fireworks spring out of the once solid, empty box. Noise expands to the ceiling, filling every crack in the once silent room. Then it stops, the two pieces of cube climb up back to the table. Sew themselves back together. Once again it is a silent room were a cube sits alone on a rickety three-legged table.
The Silent Cube
January 4, 2011