You can’t expect the world from us.
You can’t expect a never-ending tale of superheroes and villains.
A story where romance is found and tragedy never seen.
We aren’t the good guys.
We aren’t the bad guys.
We are just. . . us.
And this is our story.
The story of survivors.
October 21, 1771
A clear cube hovers an inch over my open palm. Swimming within the small box are wisps of white, which look exactly like mesmerizing clouds. I use my other hand to carefully rotate the cube, just the slightest. This simple movement causes the previous blue of a represented sky to shade a near black, and the fluffy vapors explode outwards. Each particle freezes, now pinpricks of golden light to exemplify stars inside of the animated block. Within the center of the cube is a radiant full moon, it’s glow streaming. I could feel my own eyes reflect the luminance. Most definitely, I am in awe, having watched everything unfold within a matter of seconds.
Like a child who wants to further test out his new toy, my grin spreads from ear to ear. I raise my hand, and grasp onto the cube, giving it a light shake. Instantly, the darkness and stars swirl towards the moon and are absorbed by it. I intently observe as the illuminated orb transforms into thick plumes of silver, and then expands outwards to make the inside of the cube a hazy gray. Bleak clouds rest at the top, shifting in subtle yet visible motions. Falling from the unpleasing billows is snow, which dissipates before touching the bottom of the box.
“What is it?” A gentle voice whispers from behind me. The curiosity flows between every word, striking my ears and intensifying my eagerness to reveal this prize.
Glancing over my shoulder, I reply to my younger brother: “It’s a Sky Box.”
“But that doesn’t exist! It’s just some stupid rumor.” The boy retorts, thin brows knitting together. His rosy cheeks puff out as his face screws into that of a disbelieving visage.
In response, I point at the open window. He turns his rounded head as I gesture, and watches as pure, white, flakes dance down to the yard. Several manage to escape the downfall, and tumble inside of the cabin. We both exchange glee-filled expressions before sliding the cube into a leather satchel. Swiftly yet cautiously, I sling the bag over my thin shoulder, and we are quick to flee.
The snow had stopped, and sunlight spills once more as summer resumes.