Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

I used to love box forts when I was a kid.
Safe.
Invisible.
You could even put the walls on your shoulders and pretend you were a tank.

I used to sleep in a refrigerator box out in the yard.
Sometimes it rained, and I'd have to retreat back to the porch, or worse, my room.
But the raindrops made a very distinct and curious sound as they landed smartly on dry cardboard.
Its a semi elastic
thwack.
And then a pitter.
If you wait too long the box gets waterlogged, starts falling apart, and getting all ooshy
like cold oatmeal.

We had the grandest stages
the boldest battles
with blanket capes and too-pointy swords.
Parascopes and turrets. Passwords and rations.
Canteens full of 8 parts sugar, 1 part koolaid, and a couple drops of water.

Some days
more than others

I want a demonic hyperactive spawn tearing through what could've been a study
or a bar.

But then I worry he'd want to grow up
safe
invisible
like me.