The Man in the Jewlery Box. (1)

 April short story, unfinished and not too severely edited.

Happy Easter, :)

                “Ladies and gentlemen of Manhattan, I give to you, ‘The Man in the Jewelry Box!”

                The announcer’s voice is muffled by the thick glass and yards of Tiffany Blue velvet curtain. In one swift movement, the curtain drops, careening with abandon onto Fifth Avenue. I watch as a couple spry men in suits and Italian loafers sprint to catch it. I watch the audience clapping, but no sound reaches me in my cocoon of glass. I can’t hear anything but a pale rumble of city noise outside my confines.

                “And now for Tiffany’s newest Luxury Collection!”

                There’s a creaking and a sinister rushing sound above my head as the top of the box opens. I tuck my knees under me, close my eyes, and cover my cranium. It’s a terse moment before the pieces start to rain down upon me. The loud clatters of metal and jewel against glass fill up the whole world in a numbing frenzy. The box has been tested not to crack when the collection rains down, but I haven’t. Jagged edges of bracelets, earrings, and pendants bite at my hands as they make their quick descent into the space around me.

                It goes on for minutes, the pounding. Jewelry has long since started pooling around my legs, the box must be almost half full by now. As I press my forehead against the glass and peer out, the world seems hazier, less defined. The reflection of all this gold and silver is marring the clapping crowd fifty feel below.

                My week in the Jewelry Box has begun.