The Delivery Man

What’s in the box, you always ask. I don’t know, I say, I’m just the delivery man. It’s only a slight lie. I don’t know what’s in your box, precisely, but in all my centuries as the delivery man, I have seen a thing or two.

I’ve seen civilizations crumble and worlds implode. I’ve seen other dimensions wither and die. I’ve also seen great love and peace, and an abundance of hope. All because of a box.

I look at the box and chuckle to myself. It’s had many forms over the years. Many shapes and sizes, but its current incarnation is by far my favorite. Just a simple box, wrapped in plain brown shipping paper. No name, no address, nothing. So plain and simple. So innocent, so devious.

What’s inside the box, you ask? I don’t know, I’m just the delivery man. Just a little lie.

I could tell you it’s full of everything and yet absolutely nothing. Tell you that it contains your darkest fears and your heart’s desires. It holds things of pure terror and strange delight. It can fill you with hate and rage. But it can also fill you with so much love. It’s your box, my dear, only you can find out what’s inside.

Like Sarah, she found her box was full of money. Sadly, she became a junkie. Whatever Johnny found inside his box made him go blind. But to hear him play his music, it’s as if the heavens themselves descended and manifested in his hands. Little Clara’s drunken parents were fighting again when she opened hers. Let’s just say they became much better parents.

Maybe now you’ll suspend your disbelief and wonder if it’s magical, our deceptively simple box. Possibly, but then, isn’t everything in life capable of magic if you just allow it? The only way to find out is to open it, my dear.

I’m sure by now you’re fully puzzled, thinking maybe it’s a bomb. Oh, it most definitely is, my dear, just not the kind you’re thinking. It’ll blow your mind with amazement and horror, warp your perception of all things you thought to be real. An explosion will happen, but what kind depends on you, dear.

You probably don’t want the box now that you think you know a thing or two. Too late, my dear, for you’ve already signed. See? Right here on the dotted line. You can insist that you don’t want it, dear, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m just the delivery man, after that, it’s on you.

Now you have quite the conundrum, wondering what you should do. Should you keep it or give it away in tears. Open it or set it on fire. Crush it or drown it at sea. So many options, my dear, personally, I would recommend simply opening it. It truly doesn’t matter now you feel about the box, dear; good, bad or indifferent, it’s yours now, to do with as you wish.

You could always just put it away until later. Take it to the back guest bedroom and put it in the closet, top shelf, shoved in the very back with a broom so it won’t be easy to reach. Or the bottom corner, disguised in the pyramid of old shoe boxes.

Just forget about it, my dear, and pretend. Pretend that it doesn’t exist. Forget about me as well, if you wish. At least until you’re ready. Ready to open it and see all the terrifyingly glorious things waiting for you.

Who am I, you ask? Nobody, my dear, just the delivery man with a simple box for you. It’s only a slight lie.