Written in the mid 1990s, I found this in a pile of papers and transcribed it here.

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I sit alone in my box.

I have always been in the box. Enclosed in a few cubic metres of air.

I can feel the pressure of my breathing, in and out. My pulse beats, I can hear the rhythm of the blood thrumming in my ears. It’s a soothing noise. Continue reading “Box (a short story)” →