Special Delivery

The box just sat there. After all the trou­ble it had been to get it here, she couldn’t even bring her­self to open it. Maybe if Kip­sy hadn’t got­ten her­self killed along the way, the oth­er hijinks of the pre­vi­ous three days would already be swim­ming away out the back of her aware­ness into the deep waters of memory.

But Kip­sy was dead: sweet Kip­sy, along with those two guards at the bor­der, and the postal work­er they left in that alley in Brain­erd, all to get this cube of card­board here to sit on her table and be stared at.

She sighed again, reached out a hand toward the box, thought bet­ter of it again. She didn’t need a fifth cup of cof­fee, but she got up and poured her­self one any­way. Soon­er or lat­er she would have to let the lit­tle guy out of the box. But she was just too wiped out at the moment, and still need­ed to fig­ure out a place for him to sleep. This hedge­hog ban made her so mad sometimes.

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