A box

PhotographerEkaterina Bugrova
PrizeHonorable Mention

Science i was a child i was looking for my box: cleaned it teeth, brushed it hairs, feed it with dead animals, fried on olive oil, taught it a science, which was useful to justify our place here. I also bought it clothes in boutiques and second-hands, and put condoms on it to prevent sexual diseases. We were really close... As a result my box hates everyone. It uses other boxes for satisfaction only. And don't matter what is it: sex, or talk of souls, shopping cheap alcohol or a romantic date. All of this leads my box to sadness without any reasons, feeling helpless, angry and lonely because of pocket, full of guilty decisions for everyone, but ourselves for hair turned gray and teeth go bad. My box gets older and thinner. And after her death you'll see a new gray box on the ground, made of granite crumbs and building glue with some text on it. But it is not about me. I just have to go to the supermarket, and by another one box.