The Lightbox

There is a box. Under my bed. I only bring it out at specific times. This, I felt, was one of those times.

A young girl wakes up in the middle of the night. Shadows play on her bedroom wall and the room seems to slant a little, just a little, to one side. Under her bed is a box. The light box. It is small. It fits in the palm of her hand. Stored inside is a special kind of light. The type that makes the shadows come alive.

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