Fear In A Box Part I
Pain sometimes prevents us from forgetting its taste and power, thus forcing many of us to do the right thing.
“I am tired of life,” Stacy complained to her support group of three long-time friends as they enjoyed their weekly dinner at The Food Place. An inviting and comfortable family-owned restaurant a few miles from their hometown. Which served tasty and soulful meals.
“My life keeps going in the wrong direction. No matter what I do, and which route I take I keep losing myself. It’s like I don’t know who I am anymore.”
Nodding, Yvette encourages, reaching out to caress her right hand, then consoles, “life isn’t perfect for any of us.”
Sitting across from her, Anna encourages, “life lessons are in everything we do, find them. Learn from them and help yourself.”
“Obstacles and trials are sent our way to strengthen us and leads us in the right direction,” Lani encourages, caressing her left hand as she sits beside her.
“I feel so lost directions doesn’t matter,” Stacy said, pushing back the pain. “Even if it’s going back.”
Lani stares into her eyes and suggests, “after the life we live, the past is not the route you want to take. Forward is the way to go.”
Her three friends, who were a part of the struggles, hunger, pain, hatred, poverty, and everything else negative life threw their way as children that they, fought and survived. Which made them stronger as adults stared at her in shock.
The pain of the past they were forced to endure connected them and took them to a place they vowed to forget. Only the three of them weren’t yanked back. Stacy seemed to have forgotten what hell tasted like and was.
Pain sometimes prevents us from forgetting its taste and power, thus forcing many of us to do the right thing.
But what will become of the ones who forget?
Three weeks later, Anna, Lani, and Yvette got a group video call on WhatsApp from frantic Stacy. On the video was a brown box about eighteen inches by seven and the same depth, sitting on the coffee table in the living room.
In minutes, they were inside her home.
“Look at the address,” she demands nervously, pacing around her living room surrounded by a bubble of dread.
Her three friends sighed deeply after reading the address, fear spreading across their faces.
Lani asked, “how did he find you?”
“That means he might have our addresses too,” Yvette wondered.
“He still is incarcerated and is thousands of miles away,” Anna tries to calm her friends’ minds, hearts, and souls.
“Why don’t you open it?” Lani suggested.
“Why don’t you?” Stacy shouts while glaring at them.
“It wasn’t addressed to any of us,” Yvette reminds her.
“And it’s a federal crime to open other people’s mail,” Lani adds.
“I won’t tell anyone,” Stacy coaxes.
Her three friends nod in refusal, easing away from the box in fright. Minutes later, they left Stacy’s apartment, the box untouched!
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