By Teal Fitzpatrick
When they told me I could take one thing with me, and I told them I chose you, the gatekeepers did not object.
When I arrive, I dash to look for you. I look behind the boat and in the hut. I climb the high trees and dig into the moat of a perfect sandcastle. I even look behind a precarious pile of oddly shaped boxes. To no avail. To ponder, I need a sit and a drink. The sunshine, chaise lounge, and martini are little consolation. This, I think, was not the deal. I shake my fist and curse the heavens. I spit and moan. I run through the shelter and tear art off the walls. I pee on the floor of the hut. This is when the thunder roars.[Read more…] about A Short Story about Boxes