The Boy in the Box
She's all dressed up, though he'll never see her. Their memories are piled on the table before her; she touches them tenderly: they're all she has left. A man enters to tell her it's time, and she runs past him into the empty room, arms open, to be alone with her baby. He doesn't respond as she holds him tightly to her chest, rocking and whispering to him softly. The doors open again and a flood of faces push toward her with their sympathies, but she can't pull herself away from her past, can't see anything but him. She stays by his side, stroking his suit and straightening his tie until the man returns to tell her that their time is up. Then she leans over the silent boy and lays her head on his chest, praying for him and drenching him in her tears. The man has to pull her away so he can close the boy into the box. The goodbyes are over. When the flowers are all lain before him she has to go but she can't stand to leave him behind. She's crying out to the boy in the silken tomb, crying for him to come back for only a moment, just come back and know that she loves him, but there's only silence. And after the longest two hours of her life she hangs her head and takes her husband's hand, and together they fight to walk away from their creation. The doors close for a final time behind them, but their son doesn't hear. He never even heard them come in.