Day 97 of 365 Days of Writing Prompts: Write about a suspicious delivery.
Erin: “Is this for you,” my roommate asked setting a plain brown box on the counter in front of me.
“Doubtful, who’s it from.”
“Don’t you think if I knew that information I would know who this was for,” she grumbled grabbing a knife.
“Wait your just going to open it,” I worried snatching it away from her.
“Um yes,” she placed her knife down before grabbing it back.
“It could be something dangerous,” I elaborated.
“Who do you think we are? The president,” she scoffed running the blade down the middle of the tape.
“No,” I shouted before she pulled out a blanket.
“It’s just merch from the place who did our yardwork,” she showed me the garden print covered in the logo of Greener on Our Side. “Get over yourself,” she tossed the gift in my direction.
Shannon: “Is your name Catherine Stone,” the man outside my screen door questioned before I could open it.
“Yes,” I replied reluctantly, since I wasn’t expecting any visitors.
“I was told to give this package to you,” he held up a box.
“Do you know who it’s from?” I open the door and he handed it over, seeming to be in a bit of a rush. I quickly inspected the outside for any information but it was just a bare box with my name and address.
“No. We don’t know where it started. I got it from someone who got it from someone else. We get paid if the box and all of its contents get to you fully intact,” he explained with a cringe and a shrug.
“I hope that’s not as creepy as it sound,” I bit my bottom lip.
“For your sake me too,” he agreed. “Well good luck,” he said it genuinely but seemed happy to ditch the package on me at the same time.
After I thanked him, he left and I carried the box to my dining room table. I sat and started pealing back the tape, too anxious to waste time getting out my box cutter. I ripped the flap open, to reveal a sea of red fabric. With the suspicious delivery, the color freaked me out a bit, so I slowly pulled it out, expecting the worst.
Luckily it was just a dress, and with the quality of the fabric and the detail work, it was an expensive one at that. A letter fell to floor as I released the skirt to view its length. The dress looked like something someone would wear on a red carpet, and not to any of the events in my life.
I laid it over my chair and picked up letter. It was short but it contained a ticket to a ballet performance. The note only said: An old friend requests your company to the event on the enclosed ticket. He will be waiting in seat 202, right next to your own, and only asks you to spare your time, as everything else you will need is included in this box. Your presence is highly sought after, and he guarantees the night will not be easy to forget.
I smiled. I had a feeling I knew exactly who would put something like this together, no matter how sneaky he thought he was.
Write about when something doesn’t seem right.
Pelky Sisters 
The hulking frame of Eric, the accomplished swordsmith and armoury commander, shrouded the simple cardboard box from everyone else in the room as he placed it softly on the table. As soon as he did, the package emitted an ear-splitting siren, and aroused the attention of the on-call rebellion members. Chuckling nervously, Eric’s booming voice replaced the awkward silence that immediately followed the noise, “Well, I guess it’s not a happy box. Anyone order a,” quickly checking his aluminum watch, he finished the sentence with more levity than required, “fourteen-twenty-seven wake-up call?” He calmly settled into one of the mix-matched chairs at the table and put his feet up, reclining into his bulky hands.
With his relaxing day seemingly ruined, Lionel slammed the hearty volume he’d been reading on the rickety side table and stalked to the table without a word. Silently examining the parcel from afar, the commander tensed when Sally coughed, and sent her a rotten look, “Yeah, real helpful, Sal. This thing could explode, for all we know.” After confirming that it had no insignia anywhere on the rough cardboard, he lifted it gingerly to check the bottom. Upon setting it back down, as carefully as the commander was capable of, it let out another shriek and he took a step back. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s pretty light,” he commented as he leaned against the far wall, eyeing it warily.
Sally was their explosives expert, so the two men glanced at her with concern in their pale features. Sighing, she squinted at the box, willing it to explode in their know-it-all faces, but it simply remained on the table. “Well, it doesn’t appear to be counting down.” She hopped up from the faux leather couch and stood before it, turning to Eric with annoyance in her caramel eyes, “Was it delivered by someone?” With her hands on her hips, she stared daggers at him, appearing as the den mother. But when Eric slowly shook his head, rolling his eyes like a child, she threw her hands up and slumped back onto the couch with a definitive, “Well, you guys can get blown up, if you’re not gonna help.”
Jostled awake by the commotion around him, Vernon yawned loudly and stretched his cramped arms from the plush recliner in the corner. As he turned, keeping one eye on the suspicious package as he did so, he groaned and stood to almost reach the low ceilings with his outstretched arms. There was a moment when he was showing off muscles of steel before Sally threw what could have been a rock at his head and giggled; they’d known each other the longest and certainly had the most fun. “Well, my very dear friends,” spoke the beanpole giant, spreading his arms invitingly, “it has been a pleasure knowing y’all, but I suppose this is the end, huh?” he joked, a wide grin cracking his otherwise serious face, though neither expression touched his eyes.
Lionel nearly jumped from the wall as Vernon’s long leg bumped the table and the box screeched again, causing everyone to freeze. But, as soon as the long noise was finished, he puffed his chest out and stood at full attention before his team. Wearing a stoic frown, he preached, “It’s been such an honor to work with you all, but it is my duty to open this package. I must protect my team from whatever is inside it.” With his eyes closed, he continued without their gazes on him, channeling his inner emotions, “And, you know, these have been a great few years but we always knew it would end all too soon. At least we have this chance to say a few-,” in the absolute silence he paused and opened his eyes to see Ashley standing before him looking bored.
“Oh, please, Lionel, you hate us all as much as you love yourself.” Patting his shoulder mockingly, she glanced around at everyone else without a drop of concern before turning to the offending parcel. With a swift motion, she opened the top and peered inside, to the horror of her team. “Yeah, they called to let me know my new alarm clock hadn’t been packed properly. You guys are such babies, seriously,” the second-in-command waved jovially as she carried the debunked box to her room.
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(Not really suspicious, but…)
Created to Write:
“Heather! There’s a box for you!”
Heather skips steps down the stairs and finds a futuristic box on the table. But she knows it isn’t from the future; it’s from Wakanda.
She finds the button to open it, and there’s a note on top of a colorful cloth package. She reads the Wakandan letters, “Happy birthday, colonizer. I know you said you are done with the superhero gig, but you never know when you’ll be needed. When I see you again, I hope you’ll be wearing this. Washing instructions are inside. ~Shuri”
Heather looks at the colorful cloth. Heather picks it up. The cloth is wrapped around something. She sets it down and slowly unwraps the light and thin cloth. She finds inside a brown leather jacket. It has two layers, the inner one made of a different darker brown fabric, with a hood. She tries it on, and it is very light and flexible.
“Don’t tell me it is vibranium laced,” Heather scoffs to herself. There’s another note, with the washing instructions, as well as the features. “Yep, there’s vibranium,” Heather chuckles to herself. “Bullet proof, water resistant, fire resistant, light sensitive, flexible…” Heather whistles, “Shuri’s thought of everything.”
She zips up the jacket and tries out a few punches. Satisfied, she runs her hands down the sides and takes it off. She then sees something embroidered on the left breast. It’s a wolf head, the thread dyed red. The wolf is looking off to its left, calm and patient.
She loves it.
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