The Trunk

“What’cha got there, Celia?”

She turned quickly from her hunched position over the small trunk; Max stood, half-silhouetted, in the doorway. Despite his lank figure, he managed to blockade the entire door frame. He crossed his arms expectantly.

“Oh, Max. Just you.” Celia stood slowly, trying to discreetly close the trunk behind her back. She attempted an easy smirk, but the attempt failed. He raised his eyebrow just slightly.

“What’cha got there?” he asked again, his voice filled to the brim with suspicion.

“Oh, n-n-nothing,” she stuttered, leaning guiltily against the trunk. “Why d’y’ask?”

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