The Mailbox

It's just one small rectangular wooden box. It's not even distinguishable from the series of similar boxes stacked in the area if not for the number identifying it. I also don't like its paint color nor paintwork. In any other situation, it won't matter much to me except on a few occasions when I had to check the mail. And even those times were just routine, nothing to fuss about.

But this past week - and probably the next few - is not just "any other situation". It is everything the rest of someone's life could be. The Mailbox. It holds the key.