An unmarked box

A box sits by the ticket booth in a busy station. It is wrapped in brown paper and held closed with tape like a parcel. It isn’t overly suspicious or interesting, but it is alone, unattended, abandoned. What could it contain? I could be a present, a package, an important delivery or just someone’s stuff.

No one seems to have seen it. Commuters and travellers pass by it looking for platforms, ticket machines, shops, something to eat or drink. The life of the busy station is unaffected by it. The box seems to belong to no one.

Nobody notices the box. Nobody cares what is inside it.

Anyone seeing the box might speculate as to whether it holds valuables, gifts, shopping, reams of copier paper, a hat, maybe the contents of the cleared desk of a newly redundant commuter. It isn’t evident from the outside. There are no indications as to its purpose or owner. There are no address labels or 'fragile' stickers to give any clue. It is wrapped in a layer of thick brown paper. Nowhere does it say ‘This way up’.

A woman and her young daughter approach the ticket booth. The girl drags behind her mother lethargically. However much travelling they have already done that day, it has been enough. The woman grimaces as she pulls her daughter along, the annoyances of the day pulling her shoulders down into a slump. Her face has the appearance of someone who has not been having a pleasant journey. She couldn’t care less about a box in a station. Train delays, incorrect tickets, missed connections, unused reserved seats and standing room only; those are what she cares about.

'Mummy, there’s a present, look. It’s a box.' says the small girl as she waits impatiently with her mother.

The mother definitely isn’t interested in presents. No amount of those will help her situation. She is focussed on a more pressing matter at the ticket booth. Nobody else is interested either.

Finally, she looks where her daughter is pointing.

'Oh yes.' the mother replies

'What’s in it?'

'I don’t know, honey.'

'Is it a present for me? Can I open it?'

'No, it’s not ours. It belongs to someone.'

Unsatisfied with the answer the girl edges closer to the box.

'It doesn’t belong to anyone. It’s all alone. It’s nobody’s.'

'Leave it, Jessica.'

'I want it. I want to know what’s in it. Can I have it?'

'No.'

'Maybe we should unwrap it.'

The little girl thinks for a moment, an indignant frown flashing across her young face. Nobody pays any attention to their argument. Nobody notices the little girl’s determined expression. Only she knows what she is thinking.

'It’s mine. It’s a present for me.'

The mother ignores her and deals with the ticket attendant.

The little girl walks the few steps to the parcel. She sits down next to it and starts pulling at the tape and the paper at the corner as her mother explains whatever transport issue needs her attention at the counter. The little girl doesn’t care about train tickets.

The girl wrestles with the box. A big loop of parcel tape comes away, the brown paper lifts and the top flap underneath opens. The girl’s mother sees her daughter with the box and steps over to her. The box is now partly unwrapped. It is exposed and nearly open, its secret almost revealed.

Encouraged, the girl removes a bit more of the paper and opens the box just as her mother reaches her and pulls on her hand to move her away.

As she is dragged away, the girl strains against her mother and looks in the open box.

Nobody notices her looking.

Everybody hears her scream.