Whatever You Do, Don’t Get In The Box

Welcome to part two of The Box. For any of this to make sense, please start here.

A drunk sat beside the bus stop, leaning against the ring lock fence. He looked at the box and then at me.

“Whatever you do, don’t get in the box. There isn’t there. THERE ISN’T THERE!”

I looked at the box and the approaching bus.

“I’ll get you there faster.” said the box.

I got in the box and it took off at speed.

“Where is there? You’re taking me to work aren’t you?”

“There isn’t there. I need to close the flaps so I can go faster.”

I couldn’t see how that would be possible, but as the flaps moved to a close, I could feel myself shrinking and the box was soon closed.

I didn’t stop shrinking until I was half as tall as the box. I was now wearing a pink kaftan.

“Did you recognise the drunk?”

Dirty and disheveled, he just looked like one homeless man in thousands. But the voice. I recognised that voice. He sounded like me.

“That man is the you that didn’t get in the box.”

“We need to find the next person to put us on a table.”

The inside of the box had now turned into a room. The antique furniture was very nice. At the short end of the box, a screen had appeared on the wall with a large green button in front of it. Faces were appearing on the screen. They were all people I knew. They were all people I didn’t like.

“I’ve checked them out. They’ve all got tables. When you see the right one, hit the button.”

Soon, the screen was shrinking too.

“Hurry, hurry, if you haven’t chosen before the screen has gone, we’ll have to go to the imble umble.”

Alpha Charlie Quebec. I hit the button.

The box starts mumbling ACQ over and over again like it was flipping through index cards.

“Found it, he’s got a smoky grey glass coffee table.”

The box seemed pleased with this and started singing some la de da song like he was making pancakes, or at least planning something.

“We’ll be there soon.”

“Where is there.”

“ACQ is where there is.”

The box parked on the doorstep and rang the doorbell.

The door opened and a sleepy man in his pajamas picked up the box.

We got inside and I could see the coffee table. He walked straight past it, into the kitchen, put us on the kitchen table, and went to bed.

“What happened, this isn’t the coffee table, what do we do now?”

The box started laughing which then subsided into a gentle, pleasurable moan.

“I haven’t had one for breakfast in a very long time. This should be fun. We should get some sleep.”

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