Muse 132: the magic box

My cousin has a magic box in the basement. No one ever went downstairs with her, but she always had everything we needed. Once we were building a fort in the living room with chairs, blankets and she got really excited, more excited than my two year old niece, and ran downstairs. When she came back, she was holding a turtle that projected stars from it's shell. It was perfect for our childhood illusion. She turned it on, and the Big Dipper lit up on the ceiling, but we were sitting with our legs propped up on the chairs. Her face looked visible disappointed at the dismembered fort.

"What happened?"
"Oh," Sam shrugged, "it's blocking the TV."

Muse 62: Get Away

found via weheartit

Did you forget? We had a time where symbols weren't a concern. I was six when I had a birthday party with life-size beavers and Cinderella. My smiles were priceless and my laughter could not be scanned through the store's bar codes. I don't think I thought about $ then. I can't remember the exact date when home actually coming back and not retreating directly to my room. @ defines my address now, and you can find my faster that way. Perhaps you can call my #, but I rather have a TXT because my ears aren't too good. I don't hear unless I want to. I live in my technological treehouse made of bits and bytes, forgetting that once upon a time I had dreams for my hands to achieve.