Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a monster. I’m a salesman looking to make a profit. Same as you, I wake up every morning to the small cries of my children, feed them, and send them off to school in a big, yellow school bus with a 53 on its butt, not a common number but one that was my room number twice in college. I know what a coincidence is. I don’t need any refreshing.
I’m not a monster, I’m telling you. Okay, okay, I’ll quit the appeal to you and tell you exactly what kind of business I’m in, the real meat of the matter.
I sell boxes, tiny boxes with a slip of paper inside. Magic paper. Where did I get these boxes, you might ask?
I went down to that city New Orleans, you know, the one that flooded a while ago. A nice place, to be honest. Have you been to the French Quarter? Okay, okay, I know I’m getting off-topic. I’ll get back to how I came to be this sort of salesman.
One of the Voodoo Queens took me into her shop, right? She gave me a bag of these boxes, a tough bag made of leather, I think. I grabbed a box and started to open it. She slapped my hand hard and told me to never open a box, lest I want everyone to know my flaw.
What flaw do I have, you ask? Well, I don’t know. I keep the secret on top of the dresser, by the mirror, and it looks like the box holds two eyes there, gleaming at me in the way you do.
I’m not a monster, I’m telling you.
You want to know about the flaw and the box and what it means. Yes, yes, I’m getting there. Have patience or don’t.
The box holds our biggest flaw. The woman you talk about, Sally, she bought a box from me. I told her over and over to never open the box. How can I help it if someone doesn’t listen. No one can see your flaw when it is safely tucked into this box. You might even have buried it so far in your mind that you don’t recognize it. Sometimes silence and darkness and being a hidden creature is the biggest freedom for you or someone else. A flaw can stay contained but not when one questions, when one becomes curious, oh no.
And that woman, well, she thought the box was cute and could be used in her Bible Study Class. Who am I to ask questions? I do, I do, I do, but not when someone has cash. You’re the same, you know? You want money to feed those little mouths. Nothing in life is free, right? Your flaw could be human curiosity, and it’s a killer.
You say they found the body? Her family knows where she is then, no more mysteries. I’m becoming anxious, I can tell. My hands are shaking.
Ha ha, what was her flaw? You want too much. You want to ask questions and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, I know. I know your kind and how they tie bows around boxes and give them to others at Christmas, to have the spirit of giving that everyone will see and know that Santa likes rich people more than poor people by the gifts he gives. These boxes aren’t like that. Everyone has a flaw, and we don’t want to see it. People want to assume that they are better, in harmony within the moment. You can die, and fall over from a heart attack.
Okay, okay, I’ll tell you. Sally opened her box and found out that her biggest flaw was greed. She laughed it off, but when she went to her Bible Study group they saw her with fangs eating all of the donuts in the place, never replacing the creamer, and helping herself to charity’s money all so that she could put that pretty package under the tree with bows on it, and everyone would know how generous she was, how she cared.
They told her to leave, you know? They tore the wrappers off as Sally cried out. Her tongue got caught on her fangs and she screamed, running into the parking lot where a car hit her, so terrible. The little box remained in her car, the words calling out to anyone.
You don’t believe me, do you? You want a box, do you? You don’t believe me. You don’t know who you are or what the box can see, one made by a Voodoo queen. Here you go, here you go, what is your biggest flaw that no one can see?
Don’t look at me like that. I’m not a monster.
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