the box

Alone, it sits there. The heat of the sun hiding it in a haze of imagination. It smiles, never stopping. Its pink eyes scare me, they are laughing but in an evil kind of way.


I cautiously approach it, why is it laughing, I wonder. I see a small wooden box, yet before I reach it, an almighty bang kills my ears and I am thrown aback onto the ground. The sky fades into black and all I can see is a big ugly clowns head hovering above me. I claw the ground around me, yet I am caught. My mouth as dry like a sour apple. My left hand knocks something cold, reaching for my monocle I discover it’s a bottle of grapefruit juice, I swallow it whole. From beneath the old magnolia tree in full bloom, steps my elderly uncle, who says “don’t worry my boy; it’s only a pink jack-in-a-box.”