You are last to leave the train. You eye the abandoned suitcase. You leave the station. The taxi driver puts the suitcase into the boot. You imagine all the missing people in the world are inside the suitcase. You will be famous, you will be blamed.
No. You think it is full of money. Just like the movies. Or a genie inside a bottle will float like a butterfly and sting you with three wishes. You key the door to your apartment. Home sweet home, you say. You run a bath. Your skin reddens. You stare at the suitcase in the corner of the bedroom. You get down on your knees and turn the locking wheels to the year you were born.
Bingo!
You smile like and cackle like a hyena. You open the suitcase and stare into it the way you stare into a sandwich. Another damned suitcase! The code is the same. 1975. Inside that is another case. Typical, you think, a Russian doll set of suitcases. You open the next suitcase. Another suitcase.
You imagine a suitcase the size of a matchbox and inside that is another set of suitcases. You open the next one and pick up the hard drive. You give it a shake. You hear the hissing of a snake. You put it down and pick up a bag of pills. You read the tag: Human Flesh Pills. You think of all the missing people. You put it down and pick up the bag of fish. The fish splash like children. You put it down and pick up the pigeon. In its beak are all the love letters you ever wrote. You put it down and pick up the little house.
You push the tiny door with a finger. Come in, says the voice.
I am very happy to have had the opportunity to submit. And more happy to have the story accepted. Thank you, so many times.
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