 Keyanha Galloway is a creative writing student in Orlando, FL. In her free time, she enjoys watching movies, listening to music, and playing with her dog, Midnight. You can follow her on twitter @Jagiyaskitten. Bother Box “Don’t try my bae like that!” I yelled at my television screen. I was binge watching the first season of my favorite show and it was starting to get juicy. I was already furious at how Alice was treating Quentin like he didn’t exist and now Penny had to come and try to fight him. No! I wasn’t having it. “Penny ain’t—” I started to yell, but was rudely cut off by a knock at the door. I groaned, positively annoyed at whoever decided to visit my place at that time of night. I’m not a lazy person, but the show had me in such a zone. I wasn’t going to get off the couch just to answer the door, no matter how close it was. I could’ve missed something important on the show and lord knows I would’ve thrown a fit. “Door!” I screamed. I lived in a place with two females, Jen and Carly. Our apartment was not at all big. You can see all three bedrooms from the living room and I’m pretty sure they heard the knock. My scream was merely to make sure they knew I wasn’t going to get up. “You’re right there. Why didn’t you answer the door?” Jen asked. I acknowledged her question with a simple hum in favor of focusing back on my show. Luckily, I missed nothing important. I was knocked out of focus again when I heard the door slam shut. I looked over at Jen with a scowl. She always had a habit of disturbing my TV time. “It’s for you, dingus,” she said, throwing the box beside me. I hadn’t ordered anything in a while, so that was strange. I’d been too broke to order anything online and my family had stopped sending me boxes a couple months before. Still very much into my show, I didn’t spare her or the box another glance. “I didn’t order anything,” I grumbled, “Are you sure it isn’t Carly’s? She’s been waiting for that stupid gumball machine for over a month now.” “If you’d look at the freaking box, you’ll see that it’s addressed to you. Mahalia Buchanan. That’s you, right?” I heard the damn smirk in her voice. She’s such a snarky asshole sometimes. I whined loudly before pausing the TV. Why couldn’t I just watch my show in peace. I looked at the small box beside me. The box was soaked with water at the edges and started to rip, the clear tape on that kept the box concealed showed clear signs of repackaging. It was surely addressed to me but there was no sender. I squinted at the box, completely confused by it. I didn’t want to open it because I had no idea who it was from but I was curious what was in it. “Open it,” Jen said, “What’s the worst that could happen?” After thinking about it for a second, I felt that Jen was right. What was the worst thing that could’ve been in the box? I continued to examine the box, still very skeptical. “Give me it,” Jen groaned and picked up the box. Before I could even stop her, my legs still not up for getting up, she ran to the kitchen to open the box. I heard a scream and my first reflex was to run to the kitchen, which I did. “What’s wrong?” I asked, clearly panicked. Jen was pressed up to the refrigerator, her face pale as if she seen a ghost. Her whole frame shook as she pointed to the box that sat on the counter. I was scared to look in the box. If it was terrifying enough for Jen, the bravest person I know, to be scared then I know how wouldn’t be able to take it. With as much courage as I could, I stepped over to the box and peeked inside. At that moment, I could not contain my scream. In the box sat a block of ice, but that’s not what frightened me. In the block of ice was a heart, a human heart. A note was taped to one side inside of the box. If I can’t have you, no one will. -Your True Love So much for trying to watch my show.
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