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i was placed in a box, not at birth, but by upbringing. the box is much too small for the four of me. one clambers for desperate escape, another weighs us down into the murky black waters below, another cries for her mother.
"i was placed in a box, too," says the weasel as i tell my story. "i love my box! my box has always felt like home; all my brothers are so warm and cozy!"
my brother might bash my head against the rocks when i come home just to see the brains up closer. i smile and nod. "i love my box, too."
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