Box

10:46 pm Friday, January 24, 2020- I was awoken by the ringtone of my phone. "Sir, am I speaking to a Joseph Smith?" "Yes, this is he," I say with a soft voice. "Hello, I'm Deputy Bell speaking on behalf of the Bartholomew County Sheriff's Office. We regret to inform you that your mother and father have passed away." He said firmly. "How did they die?" I ask with a broken voice. "They were murdered." He said in the same firm voice. "We will need you to come into the sheriff's office to collect some belongings of your parents." "Alright," I said in a distraught voice.

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1:34 pm Saturday, January 25, 2020- I walk to my car holding a large box and a stack of papers. I put the box in the trunk and the papers in the front seat, I put my seatbelt on, I put the keys in the ignition and turn, and I pull out of the parking lot onto Lafayette Ave. and as I go to turn onto State Road 46, I fade to black.

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1:57 pm Saturday, January 25, 2020- I wake up in an overturned car. I use the pocket knife that my dad had given me last year for Christmas to cut me out of my seat. I fall into a pool of broken glass and blood. I peek out of the small hole that used to be my driver-side window. I see a semi-truck flipped on its side surrounded by paramedics. I peek over at the box which was unscathed. I blacked out again.

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2:40 pm Saturday, January 25, 2020- I am lying in a hospital bed covered in bruises and cuts. An IV is pumping me full of god-knows-what and I feel strange. I feel as if I've cheated death; like I was supposed to die an hour ago. Thoughts scramble in my mind about how I'm alive. I don't remember much of what happened. As I slowly regain consciousness the doctor comes in and freaks out. "Dear God, we thought you would never wake up! This is a miracle!" He shouts. "We did an x-ray and you have fractured over 50% of your bones." He tells me. "Will I recover fine?" I ask him doubtfully. "We are not too sure about that," he says questionably "Oh God, your heart rate!" I blackout.

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5:00 pm Monday, March 2, 2020- "Alrighty Mr. Smith, we are going to put you in a hospice care unit," the doctor said firmly. "Am I going to die?" I asked concerningly. "No, this is only temporary until we can get you back onto your feet."

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3:35 pm Tuesday, March 3, 2020- My hospice room has all my belongings in it now and I finally feel at ease with myself. At least I felt that way until they brought that box in here. I feel uneasy about the box now. As if I can't function with it in my sight. I told one of the nurses to get the damn thing out of my sight, but she carelessly threw a blanket over it. I knew it was still there though. I don't know why I feel the way I do about it, but it gives me a dark feeling as if something is evil and I know it's the box.

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1:59 am Wednesday, March 4, 2020- I can't sleep because of the box. I can't stand up and I sure-as-hell know those nurses won't move it away. The thought of what's in the box doesn't help me sleep either. *I want the pain to end, I want the helpless feeling gone, I want my regular house back, I want to be me again. This thought churns in my head and can't escape.*

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12:06 pm Wednesday, March 4, 2020- The evil can't escape this box, just like how I can't escape this hell, this bed, I just want to leave. I feel like I am one with the box, but the box betrayed me. I feel as if the box is my evil, my dark side. I hit the emergency button on my bedside. *The box doesn't own me. I'm tired of not knowing.* "Is everything alright Mr. Smith?" the nurse asked calmly. "Yes, everything is fine. Could you possibly hand me that box?" I asked. "Yes, Mr. Smith. Anything else I can do for you," "No, I think I should be ok." I said. She walked back to the nurse's station. I use my fingernail to cut the tape on the box. As I open the flaps of the box, I start to see a piece of paper with text on it. "Finish the job. Pull the trigger." I lift the paper. Underneath is my father's old 1911 with a full magazine and all of his prized possessions. I ask myself. "Is this just a game? Was the car accident staged? Was my parent's death a suicide? Will this solve my questions?" I load the magazine, safety off, pull the slide, put the gun to my head, and pull the trigger.

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5:37 Friday, March 6, 2020- I was buried in an old pine coffin with nobody at my funeral. Nobody was there to cry. I have no headstone. I feel sorry for the nurse that found my body. I couldn't stop the pain. The solution was handed to me, so what was I supposed to do.

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***If I'm dead then who is writing my journal.***