THE BOX
by Matt Rosen
Ernest arrived in a peculiar metal box. He opened a tiny hatch and crawled out in his yellow bodysuit, which was standard attire for time travelers where he came from.
The yellow suit covered his entire body, with the exclusion of his face, which was entirely devoid of hair. Ernest reached into the box and pulled out a bag.
He opened the bag and took out an overcoat, a brown derby, and an old rifle. He put on the coat and derby and concealed the rifle in an inside pocket. Then he walked into the woods.
In the busy park, where children were running and laughing in droves, Ernest set up his shot. He lay hidden in the trees of the woods, overlooking the park. His rifle scanned the area for his target.
He spotted Douglas sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper. “There you are.”
A little boy with a train ran by. Close. Too close.
Ernest aimed his rifle at Douglas. “You’re getting off easy. You don’t even know the terror you would have caused, and you aren’t gonna find out.”
Douglas’s head exploded. Children and parents screamed and ran in horror. Ernest was already gone, running through the woods toward his box.
Reaching the clearing, Ernest threw the rifle in the bag. He tore off his coat and derby and stuffed them into the bag as well. He entered a code on the box and the hatch popped opened.
“52252,” a voice behind him said.
Ernest turned in shock and saw two men standing before him. One of them had a knife. The other had a bat. Ernest scowled at them. He looked them both in the eyes, then turned and started climbing into his box.
The two men pulled him down, stabbing him again and again and beating him savagely. Ernest lay on the ground dying.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“We were about to kill Douglas ourselves,” one of the men said.
“So that someone like you would come back to study it,” the other one said, “except it seems you came for a reason of your own. Guess that makes this our lucky day.”
Ernest watched as the two men entered the box. The hatch closed, and the box disappeared in a brilliant flash. Then he died.
In a stale desert, the box sat on a rocky hill.
“Mark, you are a genius,” Eric said.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, man,” Mark replied.
“How long has it been do you think?” Eric asked.
“Dunno. Its hard to tell time when you’re riding it like a mechanical bull,” Mark said, “It’s at least been a couple months I reckon.”
“We have to figure out how to get more specific with our jumps. I don’t even know where we landed this time,” Eric said.
Mark scanned the horizon. “I don’t see anything.”
“Me either. Wanna get out of here or should be check it out?” Eric said.
Mark’s eyes gleamed.
Near a stony cliff, Eric took a glorious pee. He heard odd noises behind him, but thought Mark was screwing around. He didn’t realize it wasn’t his friend until he had been pushed off the cliff and saw the face of his pusher looking down at him as he fell.
The grimy, wild face stared back at him until he hit on the ground.
Night had fallen. Mark stood on the box, calling for Eric. The moon was full, but Mark couldn’t see far. “Eric! I can’t wait forever, man.”
And Mark didn’t wait forever. He didn’t even wait fifteen minutes.
As he climbed down from the box, he heard footsteps behind him.
“Eric you asshole,” Mark said as he turned. He fell to the ground in fear when he saw the grimy, wild man holding a large rock. Mark screamed in terror until the stranger shut him up with the rock.
The man stared at the box until the sun came up. He entered the open hatch. He looked at the buttons, panels, switches, knobs, and he grew angry. He pressed every button he saw. He turned every knob, flipped every switch, pulled wires and smashed panels.
The box exploded in a magnificent fireball.
- - -
Matt Rosen was born in Upstate New York. He currently resides in Southern California, where he spends his time looking for time travelers.
by Matt Rosen
Ernest arrived in a peculiar metal box. He opened a tiny hatch and crawled out in his yellow bodysuit, which was standard attire for time travelers where he came from.
The yellow suit covered his entire body, with the exclusion of his face, which was entirely devoid of hair. Ernest reached into the box and pulled out a bag.
He opened the bag and took out an overcoat, a brown derby, and an old rifle. He put on the coat and derby and concealed the rifle in an inside pocket. Then he walked into the woods.
In the busy park, where children were running and laughing in droves, Ernest set up his shot. He lay hidden in the trees of the woods, overlooking the park. His rifle scanned the area for his target.
He spotted Douglas sitting on a bench, reading a newspaper. “There you are.”
A little boy with a train ran by. Close. Too close.
Ernest aimed his rifle at Douglas. “You’re getting off easy. You don’t even know the terror you would have caused, and you aren’t gonna find out.”
Douglas’s head exploded. Children and parents screamed and ran in horror. Ernest was already gone, running through the woods toward his box.
Reaching the clearing, Ernest threw the rifle in the bag. He tore off his coat and derby and stuffed them into the bag as well. He entered a code on the box and the hatch popped opened.
“52252,” a voice behind him said.
Ernest turned in shock and saw two men standing before him. One of them had a knife. The other had a bat. Ernest scowled at them. He looked them both in the eyes, then turned and started climbing into his box.
The two men pulled him down, stabbing him again and again and beating him savagely. Ernest lay on the ground dying.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“We were about to kill Douglas ourselves,” one of the men said.
“So that someone like you would come back to study it,” the other one said, “except it seems you came for a reason of your own. Guess that makes this our lucky day.”
Ernest watched as the two men entered the box. The hatch closed, and the box disappeared in a brilliant flash. Then he died.
In a stale desert, the box sat on a rocky hill.
“Mark, you are a genius,” Eric said.
“I couldn’t have done it without you, man,” Mark replied.
“How long has it been do you think?” Eric asked.
“Dunno. Its hard to tell time when you’re riding it like a mechanical bull,” Mark said, “It’s at least been a couple months I reckon.”
“We have to figure out how to get more specific with our jumps. I don’t even know where we landed this time,” Eric said.
Mark scanned the horizon. “I don’t see anything.”
“Me either. Wanna get out of here or should be check it out?” Eric said.
Mark’s eyes gleamed.
Near a stony cliff, Eric took a glorious pee. He heard odd noises behind him, but thought Mark was screwing around. He didn’t realize it wasn’t his friend until he had been pushed off the cliff and saw the face of his pusher looking down at him as he fell.
The grimy, wild face stared back at him until he hit on the ground.
Night had fallen. Mark stood on the box, calling for Eric. The moon was full, but Mark couldn’t see far. “Eric! I can’t wait forever, man.”
And Mark didn’t wait forever. He didn’t even wait fifteen minutes.
As he climbed down from the box, he heard footsteps behind him.
“Eric you asshole,” Mark said as he turned. He fell to the ground in fear when he saw the grimy, wild man holding a large rock. Mark screamed in terror until the stranger shut him up with the rock.
The man stared at the box until the sun came up. He entered the open hatch. He looked at the buttons, panels, switches, knobs, and he grew angry. He pressed every button he saw. He turned every knob, flipped every switch, pulled wires and smashed panels.
The box exploded in a magnificent fireball.
- - -
Matt Rosen was born in Upstate New York. He currently resides in Southern California, where he spends his time looking for time travelers.
0 Responses
Post a Comment
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
