I Am In A Box

I’m staring at the ceiling. I’m lying in a box, but it is also like being in a cage. I think I’m supposed to sleep here, but I’m not tired. I’m wide awake and I’m talking. The cage is in a room that has a lot of other stuff in it that isn’t mine. I’m lying there and my box has four beams of unearthly bright white light surrounding it – one beam at each corner. I am talking to them. They are talking to me. They are telling me why I am here, and that soon I will be able to think and walk and talk and eat and do all kinds of incredible, even though limited, three dimensional things on my own. They give me a purpose. They remind me of my destiny. My grammy’s footsteps are walking down the hall. My head turns towards the door. The light tells me that I can’t let Gramms know about them. I can’t talk about them. I am reminded that no one would believe me. They say Shhhhhh, in a way that means don’t even try to talk with them while others are around. Gramm opens the door and she pokes her head in.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked me. I just giggled and thought no one. I pulled myself up by the bars of my cage and then held out my arms. Gramm came into the room and looked around. “It sounded like you were talking to someone.” She bent down to pick me up. Get me out of here, I thought.

I Am In A Box

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