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Do Not Open

It's not that difficult.

By Jonathon GuillotPublished 6 years ago 5 min read
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A simple command, really. But people like to make things harder than they actually are. Admit it, you’re probably one of those people too. One of those people who take something as simple as doing the dishes and think to yourself, “Hm. How can I possibly make this as difficult for myself as possible?” But we’re not talking about you right now, so relax.

As soon as he opened the door I knew he’d be a perfect example. His mouth hung opened as he stared down at me, a small brown box. I’m surprised drool didn’t land on me. His face disappeared behind his gut when he looked up and searched for whoever delivered me. Finally, he picked me up and whisked me inside.

Norman... well, his name wasn’t Norman. I don’t know what his real name was nor do I care. They’re all Norman to me.

Norman placed me on his kitchen counter. By this time, he no doubt noticed the uncomplicated demand written on me (in comic sans, a basic font for a basic man): DO NOT OPEN UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE!!!

The simpleton scratched his head. Maybe this is when he shrugged and tossed me in the trash. Maybe this is when he decided to ignore the instructions and open me up. Either action would’ve been acceptable.

Needless to say, the man did neither. Instead, Norman left me on the kitchen counter to stare at him as he ate his breakfast. As he chewed his cereal, he reached for the milk and I caught his eye. Keeping his gaze fixed on me, he picked up the milk carton and began to pour. The subject’s chewing slowed to a stop. He didn’t blink, didn’t breathe. He didn’t even notice the milk spilling out of the bowl until it leaked onto his lap, causing him to leap out of his chair. I couldn’t help but laugh when he slipped on the linoleum under his feet and threw the carton in the air, sending milk all over his dining room.

I chortled as he staggered back to his feet using his chair as support. In fact, I thought the buffoon might’ve heard me when he whipped his head to glare at me. Norman breathed heavily and almost slipped as he stomped towards me. He grabbed me, carried me to his room, and flung me on his bed.

He paced his room, stepping on dirty clothes with no remorse. He kicked the sheet that was hanging off the bed out of his way and scratched his chin, no doubt hoping that this motion would help get some use out of his out-of-practice brain. His efforts must have proved fruitless because he sighed and sat next to me. He picked me up to analyze me further.

The cell phone on his nightstand rang as he stared at me and grumbled to himself. After four rings, the phone went to voicemail. “Hey. Um, this is Florence....”

Norman gasped and tossed me onto the disgusting carpet below. Underwear and a urine colored stain accompanied me as Norman fumbled with his phone.

“...so embarrassing,” the voice from the phone said. “Uh, I’ll just go...”

“Hello?” That was Norman. Up until this point, I wasn’t sure he had the capabilities of speech. “Hey, Florence! Sorry about that I was uh in the other room... yeah, I’m free tonight.” The Neanderthal glanced at a digital clock on his nightstand which said 9:30. He took this opportunity to show off his ability to tell time. “I gotta leave for work in like 15 minutes but after that, I’m all....”

His gaze fixed upon me again. He didn’t notice, but I gave him a friendly grin.

“You there?” said Florence.

“Huh? Oh, sorry I zoned out there. No, I’m paying attention to you. I just got distracted that’s all... go out when? Tonight? Sure. What time should I....”

My smile grew wider as the voice on the phone became more and more agitated. Despite her efforts, Norman kept his eyes on me for a full minute.

Then five minutes.

Then ten minutes.

The monotonous dial tone in Norman’s ear finally woke him from his daze. He jumped and stared at the phone in his hand. “Who was I—” His gaze shifted to his clock. It was almost 11. “Oh my God. My boss is gonna kill me,” he said as he ran his hand through his hair.

Norman grabbed his phone in both hands. His fingers ran across his cell phone and his breathing grew faster. As he typed, he looked up at me. His fingers began to move even more sporadically. Norman looked down at his phone. In between breaths, he said “What? No, no I didn’t type that. Did I?”

Norman’s eyes narrowed as his fingers raced around the phone once more. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He’d stop typing just long enough to wipe his brow, only for more droplets to appear.

Eyes closed, Norman exhaled. He swallowed, then opened his eyes to read the message he typed. After a few seconds, his hands started to shake. His phone dropped to the carpet in front of me as he pulled his hands closer to his eyes. Before he scooped me up again, I read the message he typed:

JUST. OPEN. THE. BOX.

Norman held me parallel to his eyes, his mouth quivering. He scrutinized my every face, side, and corner. “Why are you here? Why? Answer me!”

I actually considered responding, but before I had the chance he slammed me down onto his nightstand and put his hands on either side of me. His hand trembled as he put it under one of my flaps. The idiot finally opened me up.

His head and I shared the same contents.

Nothing.

fiction
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About the Creator

Jonathon Guillot

Jonathon Guillot is currently attending Full Sail University and is part of the Creative Writing for Entertainment Bachelor of Fine Arts Degree Program Online. He has been writing stories, songs, and poetry since childhood.

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