Robert wondered when the man in the truck would come. The man’s red face threatened him again as it had times before. But he was waiting stagnantly by the door. Perhaps he was asleep, but if Robert tried to escape the man would awake. Under a cardboard box he could never be safe.
Ahead of him rested a desk, and he thought under the keyhole he may escape death. Dolls lay scattered around the room; underneath a white blanket a little, boy doll shivered. He walked to the child and carried him, bringing the desk closer with each step. Perhaps behind the dolls they would be safe. Arranging them around the child, he forgot his own danger. When the boy was hidden, he took the blanket and threw it over himself. Then he climbed behind the dolls, careful not to destroy their delicate balance. The boxes created an island in the room; the desk an island in the boxes. Soon he heard the rumbling of the semi truck’s engines. Through the room it wrecked destruction, abolishing rows of empty boxes, yet somehow the desk was not touched. Minutes later he snuck from the keyhole. Being clastrophobic the last hour had been torture. Yet he had no reason to fear, for nowhere could he find a trace of the havoc wrought nor of the child he had held. So he took a doll to kiss it, leaving a wet mark where its mouth had been, and left the room.