The Danger Box by Blue Balliett7/6/2023 I pretend my heart is in the Danger Box, and has already exploded. Thump, whump, thump! My heart feels like a firecracker that’s about to go off. It’s dark in the shed, as speckly-dark as black pepper. It’s a man – I can tell by the weight of his steps. “Poor thing, I’m sorry you’re buried out here,” I whisper.Īs I’m about to slide the box back in its hiding place, I hear footsteps… I feel around, grab the nail on the edge of the toolshed door, and slowly pull the door closed. Yes! I feel the fabric and beneath it, a firm shape. Now I close my eyes and dig down into the mixture. I don’t need to see them I know the contents by touch. Inside are pieces of blown-up firecrackers and a few old shotgun shells. I open the box, a small cherry crate, and a tangy whiff of gunpowder drifts out. It’s a windy June night, and shadows from the kitchen light are bumping and chasing. I’m pulling the Danger Box out from the back of the toolshed. Explosive ideas surface in a very small, quiet town in Michigan.
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