Cramped

The crate was far smaller than you expected.

Barely large enough for your body.

You had to fold yourself awkwardly inside it, knees pressed painfully against your chest, shoulders wedged tightly between the rough wooden walls. Every movement made the crate creak softly around you.

Near your face was a small round hole drilled through the wood.

A knot hole.

Just large enough to look through.

You pressed one eye against it desperately.

Outside, the harbor moved like a living machine. Workers in yellow hard hats shouted to one another beneath the orange evening light. Forklifts rumbled past. Cranes groaned overhead carrying massive cargo containers through the air.

Nobody had noticed you.

Yet.

Your breathing slowly began to calm.

Outside, the air around the harbor started to cool as the sun disappeared beyond the water. One by one, harsh industrial lights flickered on across the docks, casting long yellow reflections across the tarmac and shipping containers.

You started to shiver.

The wooden crate trapped the cold air around your naked body, and your cramped muscles ached from being folded inside the tiny space for so long.

Still…

Nobody had found you.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Then voices approached.

Boots scraped against the pavement just outside the crate.

“Hey Frank, this one’s open!”

Your entire body froze.

“Would you nail it shut?”

A heavy silence followed.

Then:

“Sure.”

You heard footsteps moving closer.

Wood creaked beside your face.

Then came the sharp metallic screech of nails being poured from a box.