The Box

Suddenly, I notice that there’s music playing. My hands are trembling as I hold my bag; my nails digging deep into the strap and leaving marks there. I am standing in an upright coffin, hanging freely a mile in the air. The box lurches and swings a little. It’s going to fall! This is it, isn’t it? If I don’t come home, what’s going to happen to my cat? Please God, Satan, whoever. This really isn’t a good day for me to die. Could I reschedule this, please? A bulb lights up, there’s a chime, and doors open for me.