Sent: Tuesday, June 02, 2015 at 5:26 PM

The box slowly creaked open and made a squeak, unlike any he had ever heard before. It must have rusty hinges, he thought.
He bore with it and continued the opening, till he saw the little dancer. OMG so tiny, so delicate, so vulnerable. He could crush her in two fingers, snap her neck, break her legs or arms. And she’d be gone. No one would realize he had been the one to do it either. He grinned at the thought.
Once the box was open, the dancer slowly came to life. At first a bit jerky, like she had forgotten how to move. He almost got the oil can at that point.But just as he might have done that, she started to move with the tune in the box. The dance was so sweet and magical he watched for hours that first time.
Over the next few months he spent every chance he could with his dancer. He was enraptured with her fragility. Her innocence. He just adored her.
Then his life got busy again. And he started to see little pauses in the dance, that got longer as he spent more time away from her. Finally one day he heard creeks in the hinges again and the box got harder and harder to open. He actually got the lube can out but it didn’t seem to help at all. He threw the box into the corner in disgust. He said he didn’t have time or the energy for this nonsense.
But she wove her way back into his brain and he went back to her. He started the time clock back up. She took longer to warm up this time. But she did get almost back to the first dance with him and he had faith that she was ok again.
In that faith, he let time get away from him again. And maddeningly the hinges creaked more and more. Nothing he could do would get that awful sound to stop. It haunted his dreams. He saw himself unable to get to his dancer in his nightmares. It was getting harder and harder to sleep. Finally he threw the box in the garbage. That night he heard a banshee scream in his dreams. It startled him awake. He ran outside convinced someone was being murdered. But could find nothing.
Slowly the night mares and the creaking stopped and he rarely thought of his dancer anymore.
Till one day he was walking in the next street and he saw his foe playing with her. He was heart broken, but more because he was lonely than because he missed or needed her.
He fought with the foe and grabbed the box back. He ran home and tried with everything in him to open the box. But he could not. After days of this, he threw the box in the fire. He couldn’t play with her any more, but he’d be damned if his foe would…
The box was gone and he would never be the same man who first opened it again.

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