by Sponge Monkey
The winter snow fell to the ground like Japanese Kamikazes on a moonlit night. Jack strolled through the park, being quite careful not to slip on the ice covered path. It had been a long day. Working in a supermarket was not all it was cracked up to be. Oh sure, the dairy section was fun and all but that meat section usually depressed him to death. Today, though, it really didn't matter. His mind was preoccupied with something else. He wasn't sure what but for some reason he knew that tonight would mark a change in his utterly dull life. As he strolled through the park he happened to hear a voice. "Jack," said the voice. "Jack!"
Jack looked but saw nothing. No one around him, just the trees, the path, a park bench and a garbage can. "Maybe it's just my preoccupation" Jack thought aloud.
"Jack. Over here," called the voice. It seemed to be coming from the garbage can. Jack noticed it was glowing which was not something average garbage cans did.
"Who's calling me?" murmured Jack. He murmured a lot.
"Listen to me," said the garbage can. "Listen."
Jack listened, wondering what to expect. "I'm listening," he called.
"Be careful Jack," said the garbage can. "Be very careful. Something terrible is going to happen and I want you to be very careful."
"Why?" he asked but there was no reply and the garbage can stopped glowing. Jack was, for the first time in his life, very scared. Jack wondered what was going to happen to him. What was so terrible? What was so dangerous? What life threatening thing was going to happen to him? Jack walked home very carefully. "Should I be running home or should I be careful?" he wondered. All the way home he looked over each shoulder, looked up and down and all around him, and took slow steps. For the next week Jack was terrified to move, even breathe. Nothing happened. Months went by and Jack played them as safe as he could. Always terrified of what was out there, what would be his demise or misfortune.
Seven years later, Jack died of a heart attack. The doctors said it was stress, which was true, but moreso fear.
Back in the park, the garbage can laughed. "I love that one," he thought. "Always gets 'em"
Sorry, no jello.
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