Casket

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His little chubby fingers gripped the side of the purple baby carriage. Upon his tippy-toes, the boy peered in, scanning the shadowed casket. Sure, it is for sleeping. But a casket nonetheless. The ringing in the boy's ears hadn't stopped yet; the shrill shriek coming from inside hadn't ceased. He let out a small, quick whimper. He kept looking inside, waiting for the contents within to change. He observed at what he had done. Indeed, a casket.

* * *

The trembling woman was on the neon orange rotary phone all morning. She called up the relatives, crying endlessly for hours. Her son sat in his booster seat at the kitchen table, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. Elvis would have been proud. He attempted to pour himself a glass of grape juice. But alas, he did it in a messy fashion, as he did everything when he was young. Mud pies, baths... The grape juice looked somewhat red to him. He thought, and thought, and thought. And then he threw up.

* * *

A small being lay on a frozen metal slab. This being was no longer human, just some particles and gasses being emitted into the atmosphere. Zaps of electric currents no longer radiated from the being, as it once did after it was given the gift of life. But inside, there was a little voice, pulsating from within. The shell, dilapidated. The soul, intact. It hummed, buzzed. This chi, was alive. Breathe.

* * *

It hailed that morning. Debra always hated hail. Hail was an interesting occurrence in everyday life. Although she thought she should savor the satisfying unexpected moments of life, she hated it. Debra enjoyed cold things though. Cool showers on a humid day, ice cream, and even the air conditioning system at her work. She always thought her office didn't need such things, because it was cold enough already. But lately, she felt the room start to heat up. There was a force, a power no artificial cold air could diminish. Something other-worldly, she just didn't know what. She didn't know about religion and myths. She just examined dead people.

* * *





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