muse-7

The Wooden Box My breath came short. I gasped for it desperately. My heart thudded louder than the thunder outside. Slowly, I tread through my broken home down in despair. I found myself back at my bedroom. I collapsed onto my knees before my bed and reached underneath. For a split second I was frightened that a skeletal hand would enclose around my wrist and drag me under. Fortunately, I safely pulled out the wooden box. Though how safe I actually was, I was doubtful. I opened the lid of the box and touched the contents with trembling fingers. This was my box of special memories. It could also be seen as a box devoted to Anne. Stacks of pho