Follow Them

The Box

-Everyday since we got the big brown box of essentials-

I reach into the box everyday but never look down into it. It was shipped to us by mail ever since the breakout occurred.

I never wanted to look into it but I couldn't help but get curious sometimes. I always thought it was connected to the breakout that's recently spread and the fact that it could potentially be true makes me feel even more conflicted about whether or not I should check the contents of this strange box. Everything almost feels fake, the breakout has thrown everybody into a shock. Nothing like this has ever happened before and I've still yet to process everything completely.

One day as I was waving my hand around in the box, I noticed the growing empty space between me and the essentials. My hand bumped the side of the box and I quickly pulled away. I noticed that there was a stain on my hand and so I ran over to the washroom.

I quickly rinsed my hands in a hurry, that strange stain that appeared on my hand threw me into a panicked state making me even more cautious about the box. I'm especially concerned for my grandma and her weak health because, again, I have my suspicions about the box being connected to the breakout. The anxious feeling wouldn't leave me.

With rattled breath and a weak heartbeat from shock, I go back to the box. I stand over it, and I crack my knuckles in anxious anticipation. I was sort of isolated now because the door was closed and the windows had been covered for the night. My only source of light was the small glass pane on the door and the light from beyond that. I couldn't hear anything besides the sound of the freezer working hard because of the hot summer night. I walk over to the door and peek through first.

Out of impulse and adrenaline, I force a nervy hand through the box and my nail hits something. I turn my hand out and spread out the tips of my fingers, my finger touches something fleshy and soft. I assume that this is either something rotten or unpackaged. Some of the items were carelessly packed. I pick it up and fish it out through the opening... In this lighting, I could only see the outlines of color. I hold it in my palm carefully and walk up the three steps to the door. When I reach the light, I open my palm. ... Pink, fleshy, and mutilated. That's how it appeared from the bottom, it was as if it was torn or brutally sliced. I turn it right side up. The human markings were torn away from the.. Finger. There was no nail on the flesh and it was moist. It rolls out of my hand and I clap my other hand over my mouth. The finger was of an aged hand, GRANDMA.

I dashed up the stairs as fast as I could to check up on her, nearly tripping on the steps. When I got far enough to where I could hear noise from her bedroom, I didn't know whether to feel relieved or even more anxious. Was that her? Was it the murderer who sent that box? Snapping myself out of the thoughts, I quietly walked up to her bedroom door, not sure if I should open the door or flee the house. But after a few minutes of thinking to myself, I've settled on opening the door. My logic was that if my grandma had actually ended up getting brutally murdered then I don't see any point in living either, she's had a huge impact on my life and I honestly couldn't live my life knowing my grandma hasn't had a peaceful death. It was pretty simple. As my shaky hand twisted the door knob to open the door, I was very pleased to see the sight of my grandma just making her bed, completely oblivious to the chaotic state I was in. I smiled at her briefly before shutting the door and heading back downstairs. Whew.