Damn, Daniel — Part 2

HW Edwards
Mar 2, 2016 · 3 min read

Sheila loved sick days.

Not the being sick part, that sucked, but having the entire house to herself was glorious. She put on her favorite sweatpants and one of John’s ratty old tee shirts and sat down in front of the 60" TV screen he’d bought.

She’d hated the thing when it first arrived. He’d shown no interest in decorating any of the modest 2 bedroom starter home they’d bought, so she took it upon herself to make it look like she’d always thought her first home would look. Lots of pastels, soft wood; no chrome or leather in sight. She’d spent weeks coming home from work and moving her new purchases around until everything looked just right. Then John had shown up with a box almost as big as he was, moved the armoire filled with glassware and spent an entire day trying to figure out how to mount it to the wall before giving in and hiring someone off of Handy.com.

But she had to admit, The Bachelor looked even hotter in 60" HD.

She sat down on the couch, curling her legs underneath herself to ease the pain in her lower back, and started catching up. She knew that Ben deserved way better than these four idiots. Especially the perky blonde one.

She was making her second cup of tea when the doorbell rang. She wasn’t expecting anyone, and briefly contemplated changing into something a little more presentable before deciding that whoever was interrupting her day off would just have to deal with her as she is.

Sheila opened the door to find nothing but a plain brown box sitting on the front porch. Odd. She hadn’t ordered anything off of Amazon, and it didn’t have the ostentatious tape job that most Amazon packages had.

She lifted the box and brought it inside. Maybe John had finally taken the hint and bought a new microwave to replace the crappy Wal-Mart version they’d been making do with. The thing couldn’t even cook popcorn right.

Sheila explored the box for markings, but there wasn’t even a shipping label stuck on anywhere. She debated opening it, but she didn’t really know it was for her and wasn’t opening someone else’s mail a federal crime? Or was that only for packages sent through the Postal Service?

Either way, she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. Let John take care of it when he finally got home.

Sheila sat back down on the couch and un-paused the TV.

She awoke around 3, the TV stuck on the bouncing logo screensaver. She must’ve fallen asleep during the second or third episode. She was a little groggy, but feeling better, so she decided to reward herself with some of the Cherry Garcia ice cream she saved for special occasions.

She had just put the ice cream on the counter to soften up when she heard the rattle.

Whatever it was, it definitely came from inside the house.

The spoon rattled as she put it on the countertop and made her way towards the living room.

When she turned the corner, the box exploded in searing white light.


Short Fiction by HW Edwards

HW Edwards

Written by

Professional Storyteller, All-Star Paper Crumpler. www.hwedwards.com



Short Fiction by HW Edwards