Corrugated Resistance

A towering brown box blocked the path between the window sill and the rug. I stopped dead before its broad flank, holding my stance until the dust motes settled in the sunlight. It smelled of dry wood pulp. I braced my weight, lowered my skull, and drove my snout squarely into the seam of the thick corrugated wall. A satisfying hollow pop echoed under the impact. The cardboard buckled inward with a stiff, muffled crunch, folding just enough to hold the imprint of my jaw. It did not topple. Strong barrier. I stood grounded, letting a quiet rumble vibrate against the dented cardboard.