When the sun rises, color returns to our sight. When gone, our eyes search for vibrancy through the dim filter of darkness, but color requires light. As does that which charges hearts to soar. For too long, Jack saw no light, and searched high and low. It wasn’t until the darkest of blackness that he found it deep within himself.

A quiet town in the Catskills. An audience of pines observed a rustic cabin with walls of aspen, brought in just for Jack. Within, scribbling and scratching softly filled the air.

A writer rarely gets to choose such an ideal, secluded lab for composition. Jack’s fortunate first foray following college commencement, in corporate consulting and finance, enabled him the means to make it so. His breath was rich with notes of coffee and his eyes quite puffy from a lack of sleep. He must keep the words flowing; sleep was a luxury best kept as a victory dance.

A sudden three knocks at the cabin door caused enough of a shock that Jack dropped his pen, slashing a rude vector of black into his slanted sentences. More than a little frustrated, hushed expletives poured out as he gathered himself and rested a pair of sleek, half-frames on his ears and nose. Each step to the door played his floor like a keyboard of creaks; the percussion provided by his sandals slapping the soles of his heels. Jack turned the deadbolt and opened the door just a few inches, and saw no one waiting.

Scanning about for his visitor, a brown paper wrapped box sat on the bristled welcome mat which read ‘No Distractions Allowed’. He picked it up. It was light and by the texture through the paper, he could tell it was a shoebox. Shaking produced no rattle or rustle, meaning it must be well packed with foam and/or air packs. His name and address we’re written in sharpie, and the postage was standard USPS. There was no return address.

Before closing up to investigate, Jack took a moment to open his door wide and bring in some of the fresh forest air. Standing in his doorway, he gazed out at to the dirt road leading back to civilization and smiled.

‘So far away. Can’t imagine anyone disturbing me out here…’ he thought. He deeply inhaled and exhaled, and then turned, shutting the door, and brought the box over to his kitchen table.

Pulling a utility knife from his pocket, Jack gingerly cut the tape and pulled apart the paper cover, revealing a humble New Balance box beneath. He noticed that ‘Balance’ had been crossed out with the sharpie which had been used for the address, and the word ‘Chapter’ was written above it.

“New Chapter?” he said out loud, as he gripped the lid and shimmied it off. The bottom fell out from the lid to reveal the box’s only inhabitant: a note, scotch-taped to the bottom of the box.

“Who mails a note in a box? Fascinating.” As he retrieved it and began to unfold, he started to feel the hairs on his neck stand tall. Jack was getting a strange feeling that this note would forever alter his life. Just the thought was enough to elicit a small chuckle, but his hairs still stood on end. On an ordinary piece of ring-bound notebook paper, blue-lined with a red margin, written in sharpie it read:

It’s time that you learned the truth. In 3.3 minutes from the arrival of this note, you will be taken away to where you once called home. I will be waiting, and we will have much to discuss.

Oh, and you might want to bring sunglasses.

“Sunglasses?” Jack felt strange in his own body. He spied his favorite aviators in his peripheral on his armchair and hesitantly picked them up as if they were something foreign to him now.

Looking at his watch, he estimated about 3 minutes had passed since the knock at the door, and that’s when everything went white.