A house in the world - 1

It was a simple house. Unadorned by ornament or architecture, it was as if the builder had decided to hide this house among all the other houses on the block. The front walk led to simple wooden steps, unpainted and weathered. There was no screen door or storm door to protect the gray steel door that hung in the frame of the entryway. Behind that steel door a boy lived with his family.
The boys name is unimportant, at least unimportant to the other neighborhood children. His family had given him a name of course. But no one in the neighborhood knew his name. It was as though he were invisible.
The boy usually played in his backyard. Never venturing past the gate. He was content to play with his steel toy trucks in the sand box his father had built for him. He would deliver load after load of sand to the other side of the sandbox until he had made a ramp upon which to drive his toy trucks out of the sandbox. Then he would level it all out and start over again. Shifting sand back and forth, like the creeping of dunes in a desert.
The boy woke at his usual time that morning, said his prayers and went down to breakfast where his mom had already made him a bowl of cereal. He ate in silence, as this was their way in this family at meal times. He finished breakfast and put his mat down by the door and collected his shoes before going out into the backyard.
This morning the backyard held a something new for the boy. Something had changed overnight. Something had been added to the yard next to his sandbox. The boy approached it cautiously. It was olive in color and just a little bit smaller than his steel trucks. It had straps on both sides that would hold something a few inches around. It had a lid, and the lid was still made fast. The boy touched it and it felt course, like burlap only with a finer weave. The boy picked it up. It was lighter than he expected.

more to follow...