The Box

April 27, 2009
By Sarah Bakker BRONZE, Springfield, Missouri
Sarah Bakker BRONZE, Springfield, Missouri
1 article 5 photos 4 comments

Such a stunning contraption it is, standing in the center of the room; the glossy black screen gleaming with the glory of one hundred moons. Never have I seen such an absurdly spectacular entity in my short, as of yet, life. I must have it, to hold it, to stroke it, to love it, to use it.
I have seen it being used before, many times in fact. I know the second it comes on, the metallic “click!” of its screen flickering to life with the grace of a flying swan. And then the picture swims into focus without any further prompting, and a whole new world opens itself to me. Everything appearing upon this polished and perfectly aligned wonder is gorgeous and larger than life, and I want it. Like sunshine peeking through my window and warming my crib every morning, these moving pictures upon this boxy wonder bring me a pleasure that cannot be met. I want to own this contraption that brings such emotion.
Mesmerized momentarily from the bright glare reflecting off its silken surface, I stumble forward gaining several gasps from the unwanted audience watching from behind. Five pairs of hands reach out to grab me, but I fall nevertheless. My hands mash into the carpet, and my cheek grazes the couch. I must be more careful. Such a treasure is bound to come at a high price.
Pushing myself back up, I sway gently back and forth until I am able to grab the edge of the couch to steady myself. This is the most difficult task I have ever performed. The glowing face twinkles invitingly at me, and my courage is renewed. Ignoring the cooing sounds uttered by the insolent spectators behind me, I march onwards towards my imminent prize.
I place one bootie in front of the other, and push gently away from the couch. I swayed precariously for a moment, but masterfully recovered by taking another step. There might have been a shriek from behind me, but I paid it no mind. Only the box and I existed; we gaze longingly at each other. I am close, very close. Almost close enough to reach out with my fingers and gently caress its lustrous surface.
But such a feat requires another step. I have made it thus far, there is no use turning back now. I lift my left foot, and smoothly bring it down in front of my other foot. Gasps break through my heavy concentration, and I trip. Oh, what a trip!
I rocket forward, arms outstretched, yearning for the cool silky feel of the entity under my fingertips. And then, I feel it! Everything I could have ever hoped for and more! Such a gloriously smooth and delicate feeling object should be worshiped in the highest of manners.
Too late I realize I have touched my precious box a tad bit too hard. The clean, spotless and burnished fixation starts leaning backwards, slowly, as if in a trance, and finally falls off the table it had so gracefully been resting upon before. I scream. I scream and I scream some more. Four arms reach to pick me up at once, uttering supposedly comforting words. Two arms haul me from the carpet, and forcefully press me against a body. The person is annoyingly shushing my cries, obviously unaware of my torment. Using all my strength, I turn my head back towards my precious box just in time to see the fireworks. Reds and blues, greens and yellows all emanate from the fallen box. I cease my tears, and gaze at the vision.
The wondrous box had not been the true marvel, but rather had been holding hostage the lovely colors within. And it was I who had released these little lighted miracles and sent them swirling back to humanity. I smile, and hiccup slightly, looking at my human captor. Now, all is well with the world.

The author's comments:
I was trying to come up with something to write about from a different perspective, and happened to glance at my TV. A TV would seem magical to a small child, and so this very short story came forth as a result.

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