the chute
Image by Ivan Aleksic @ivalex on Unsplash
by Krista Sanford
the gray, cold box stands behind a closed closet door. the bottom of the box unsealed, creating a hole that connects the upstairs from the downstairs. dust floats off the lid every time it creak, creak, creaks open. the dust trickles down the side of the gray, cold box and falls to the floor, where dead boxes of cereal lay. dead boxes that chose peace instead of suffering. fruit loops, cheerios, trix.
up above the gray box stands bright packages of food. unopened boxes of cereal and noodles and soup on one side, homemade cookies and brownie batter on the other. neatly sealed, each package protects the vulnerable food from unclean hands and evil germs seeping up through the passage of the box. on the highest shelf, far, far away from the scary, gray box, white grocery bags spread across like clouds in the sky.
the old woman walks over to the gray box, a basket of clothes in her hands, while the young girl hides under her pink, minnie mouse covers, scared of the evil box and its passage to the underworld. the lid roars like a lion as the old woman pulls it open. dirty clothes fall down the long, narrow box and crash onto the hard floor below.
falling, falling, falling, crash!
the view at the top of the box reveals piles and piles of forgotten clothes, all alone downstairs; dying and not being remembered. light there was none; and love there was not. these abandoned clothes lay together until a lost soul, hard at work with the chores of life, ventures down to the underworld. until then, the gray box presents the only communication to the downstairs.
in the late hours of the night, voices and temptations whisper from the vent and into the sensitive ears of the young girl from her spot far, far away and down the hall from the gray box. they tell her to open the creaky lid of the box, they tell her to follow the narrow box down, they tell her to be with the forgotten clothes. she does not give in, no matter how much she wants to. she thinks back to the time her cousin folded at the temptation, getting halfway down before realizing the danger. he fell to the ground, crying as his bone cracked.
in the downstairs, only darkness shines through the tiny cracks of the small windows, happiness and light an uncommon occurrence. this is why, looking at the downstairs from above the gray box, only shapes of the forgotten clothes and occasional boxes of food can be seen in the darkness.
the gray box tempts many. many climb down its narrow walls to the bottom. the bottom where all souls are lost. when the lid to the gray box stands open, these forgotten souls creep up to the upstairs, looking to unhouse the souls of the innocent upstairs. they try and take victims; they try and take souls. as the sun starts shining up above, the forgotten souls run back down the box, scared of the light and the goodness it brings. sometimes, if the temptation becomes too great, souls from the upstairs fall down the tunnel and towards the underworld, damned forever. only on rare occasions do the soulless beings capture innocent souls; but when they do, the innocent tumble and crash against the narrow walls of the gray box as if trying to fight against the downstairs.
even after both the old woman and the young girl leave, the gray box still stands, tempting the next occupants. millions and millions of years later, the gray box still stands, acting on the weak and stealing the souls of the sinners. the gray box stands, a passageway between good and evil.
Krista Sanford
Krista Sanford studied creative writing and literature at Ball State University, graduating with her BA in Science and Humanities in 2016. During her studies, she was able to blend her love of writing and design by working as a Design Editor and a Copy Editor. For the past five years, she's been working in sales and marketing. Now, she's the HR and Media Manager for a marketing firm in Indianapolis, IN., where she currently lives with my dog, Gavin, and kitten, Rhue.
