Last Box

“Meat grinder?” I asked.

Arnold laughed. “Strange guess, sis’.”

“Not at all. Grandma kept her favorite possessions even when shecouldn’t use them anymore.”

Arnold shook the box. Contents moved.

“She grinded roasts for cabbage rolls and meatloaf,” I added.

The overhead light flickered as it swayed. I shivered.

“Let’s carry the box downstairs,” I said. “I hate attics.”

“Why, you’re scared?” Arnold snickered.

I followed my brother into the kitchen. Inside the box we foundparcels wrapped in Christmas print. Each labelled with tags spellingout names of the family.

Grandma didn’t have a chance to give them out.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction.