Lump

Box on the Doorstep

Box on the Doorstep

THE BOX LEANED, SLOPING to one side. The tape was worn and weak, threatening to allow the flaps to pop open, spoiling the surprise. The right side was dented in. The left side had a puncture wound, too small to see inside. A bottom corner had an oily, reddish stain.

It sat on the doorstep, waiting for someone to open it. A strange scent of old garbage and rotting meat hovered around.

Inside the box, his face was frozen in terror. His hair matted with blood. His eyes were missing, as were a few of his teeth. The neck, a gaping wound, oozed blood. He would never cheat again, and his lover would know it.