The Box

I bought a box which had no inside. Four walls, a bottom, and a lid which folded up, but when I tried to put something in it, even something very small, it wound up on the floor.

I looked in and saw blackness. I'm not sure what I expected to see, really. A wormhole to another dimension? No, because that would just mean that the box contained a wormhole. It didn't contain anything. It couldn't. It had no inside.

I was warned by the manager of the box store where I bought it. She said, "Be warned, nothing can go in this box." But I like a challenge, so I bought it and proceeded to try to put everything I owned into it. Somehow nothing fit.

Except that's not accurate. It wasn't that things didn't fit, although I suppose that's also true. It's true in an uninteresting way though. Things wouldn't go in the box because even with it open, there was no inside. From the outside, the box looked perfectly normal, but inside... well, there was no inside, so it can't be talked about.

Finally I put it on my shelf and forgot about it. I think it was supposed to teach me something, but whatever it was, I didn't learn it. It gathered dust for a few years, mostly because I don't dust, then I sold it to a used car salesman named Grant who had a wooden leg. Genuine wood too. I know because he let me knock on it by way of proof.