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“Life Through the Eyes of A Cardboard Box”

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Once upon a midnight foggy, as I pondered, weak and groggy, I heard before me a clatter and clink, and soon after, began to think, of how this situation did unfold, and about my life stories untold, and vaguely I remember, it was late last September when my life did begin.

The basement of the corporation had very soon become the station, of my capture from the cardboard building, some twenty blocks away. But as the weeks went by, realized, did I that my sojourn had become a permanent stay

I should explain, a cardboard box am I, and from flat pieces did I arise, by the assembling of my form from workers in a room not norm, with my fellow people crumpled and crushed, left broken there, forevermore.
Broken there, forevermore.

Finally assembled I was, but instead of the floor on a belt I was put because I was to be filled with things that entertained and thrilled the family I was to be delivered to, leaving this building, forevermore.
Leaving, forevermore.

A guitar for the boy and a teddy bear for the girl, they packed and packed, I thought I would hurl. Another one here, another one there, more and more, honestly I swear, the objects prodded, pierced, and poked, with no end in sight, but struggle as I may, I could not put up a fight

I guess packing time had elapsed, for I had almost collapsed, but there must have been an important decision, for instantly, with such precision, I was picked up, emptied, and thrown, fifty yards I must have flown, into the staircase in the basement forgotten and left for dead, “if a box can even die,” I said.

The basement that became my prison showed little signs of cleaning, and the many signs upon the floor had blurred and decayed meanings. My contents had journeyed with me and they were spread all over the place, as if each had one claimed the specific part of the floor on its face. Oh, how I long for a brief respite, from my life, this tale of fright.

So for countless days and countless nights, I sat there, hope depleting, and at the entrance not a soul, not a soul, came to me, never once entreating. As my patience shrunk, my insanity grew, and soon it became clear, that as I sat here all I knew was hopelessness and fear.

My brain had spoken, that was it, and my fate had been sealed. My future plan to spend my time, to myself, had been revealed. I would sit there, contemplating, all the while always waiting, for someone, someone, to come and save me from the basement prison I was in. What did I do to deserve this? Did I commit some sort of sin?

So I am sitting, still sitting, here on the basement floor, and each time I hear the clink and clank of the distant machinery, I begin to think of how this situation unfolded. Every time, I do, I swear, my sense of hope does soar, but deep down, I am aware that I will be trapped here forevermore. Forevermore.





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