"So Horace, why are you so...uncomfortable with small spaces?" Will asked.

"When I was a kid, maybe six or seven, we always used to go to a day care center. And when there was about five minutes left, we would get in boxes. Then our moms would walk in, and we would jump out and 'scare' them. But one time, it was different." Horace said, and he found himself thrown back into that day.

"Five minutes!" Cathy called.

Everyone giggled, then slipped into the boxes. They all left the flaps open and on top.

"Bet ya can't get out if I tape it shut!" Someone whispered to Horace.

"Can too!" Horace whispered.

"Let's find out!" another boy said. They taped the flaps shut. Then their moms came in.

It was dark, darker than Horace thought possible. And the air was thick and stuffy...

And running out.

"Help! I can't get out!" Horace cried, thrashing around. But the tape help, and no matter how hard Horace tried it just wouldn't give. His heart quickened, and his lungs burned. He could dimly hear someone running for a knife. Horace's thrashing slowed, as the air supply dwindled.

When the box was finally opened, Horace was just barely conscious.

Horace blinked, and saw Will looking into his face.

"Wow." Will said. It was all he COULD say. (Caps seems to violent, but bold just wasn't working either.) Horace nodded.

*Imma line break*

So ya, experience. Never tape yourself into a cardboard box with duck tape. Not unless you have a death wish. A very slow, painful, agonizing death wish.