Day 20

Happy First Day of Spring, everyone! At least, everyone in the northern hemisphere.

Today I have a short story about a little god with a big curiosity that got the world into a lot of trouble.

THE BOX

It was late in the evening of the first millennium. The gods were all sleepy, having drunk enormous amounts of wine and eaten large meals. Little God, a small, immature god who had not yet learned to behave himself, and who was not yet allowed to drink, being less than eighteen million years old, found the entire thing so booorrrring he decided to play a joke.

He glanced at his sleeping relatives. None of them seemed conscious enough to consider stopping him as he snuck off to find the box his Aunt Matilda, the patron goddess of campers, had hidden under her bed with strict instructions that he never, ever, ever even think about touching it, no don’t you dare. Ever since that day, he had been determined to find out what was in that box. He had promised her, cross his heart and hope to be tied to a large mountain and have his liver eaten by an eagle, that he would not open the box.

He stared at the strange box in his hands. It seemed to pulsate with the most curious light he’d ever seen, a light that hurt his eyes and put out an electricity that stung his little god hands, not yet able to reach more than three miles. The box itself was colored the most ugly color of gray he had ever seen, and it vibrated with a sound so nasty, so inhuman, it threatened to shatter his eardrums. The box seemed sort of…angry…if that made any sense, which it didn’t.

Little God knew he could not open the box. Violating a vow carried severe consequences, like being tied to a large mountain and having your liver eaten by an eagle every day. No matter. He had to know what was in that box! He started to lift the lid, but he felt the whoosh of an eagle over his head, and imagined he felt just the faintest touch of talons against his head. His liver jumped in agony, begging him not to open that damned box. Just let it be, he thought. It isn’t worth that trouble.

The idea, when it struck him, was brilliant. Of course! He had only promised he wouldn’t open the box. He had never said he wouldn’t give the box to someone else, who might just be curious enough to open it and see what it contained. He tied the box to his back and headed toward Earth. There were plenty of humans there, and most of them were more curious than was healthy. One of them would surely open the box, and he could find out what it was his Aunt Matilda didn’t want him to see.

Earth was also slumbering when he arrived. He never understood this urge to sleep, when there was so much mischief…excuse me, adventure…that beckoned. He saw a home with a light on, and he headed straight for the window. If this person stayed up when everyone else was asleep, they might have a true sense of adventure that would cause them to open the box.

He landed on the floor in front of the table with a thud. The small boy was hard at work on the task of carving his name into the wooden surface…or was he? No, he was carving his brother’s name into the surface! Better and better. This was clearly a young man after his own heart. He leaned over the table to observe as the child carved the name “Kilroy” into the wood, forever condemning his brother to a life of infamy. When the work was done, the god deposited the box right in front of the boy, on top of the lettering where he would be sure to notice.

Rodney – that was the little boy’s name – saw the box float out of nowhere and land on the table. He stared at it, wondering where it could have come from. He looked out the window and around the room, but he saw no one. He felt a breeze coming in through the window, which was odd because the window was closed. Perhaps the wind blew it here, he thought. And shrugged. It was an old, dirty gray box. Nothing good came in old, dirty gray boxes.

He started to go to bed, but the box seemed to be whispering his name. “Rodney!” The sound floated through the room, tempting him toward the box again, and he noticed it was vibrating, and giving off strange sounds and lights. He put his hand on the lid. It was warm, perhaps a bit too warm, and he jerked his hand away. Something – or someone – took his hand and put it back on the lid of the box. He started to peek under the lid, but the vibrations were too much. They threw him backwards, and he landed on his ass on the other side of the room.

Now Rodney was mad. The box had no right to treat him like that, and he was going to open it even if it killed him. He crept forward, determined to sneak up on it and open it before the box realized what he was doing. His hand crept toward the box, tingling from the electricity and the vibrations, but he persevered. With one abrupt move, he flung open the lid of the box, and fell backwards as strange creatures flew outward into the world.

Oops. Rodney realized he had done something bad, perhaps something worse than he’d ever done. He ran around the room trying to collect up the two creatures that had escaped, two black, ugly creatures that were powerful and strong. He managed to wrestle one of them back into the box and slam the lid, but the battle sapped his energy. The other creature sat on the mantle and mocked him, challenging him to cross the line. He crossed the line, and felt the energy of the hatred from the creature. He was overwhelmed, and as he fell on his ass once again, the creature broke into a thousand tiny little pieces, each as strong and full of blackness as the large original.

Rodney opened the doors and all the windows, shooing them out into the world, hoping no one would ever see what he had done. He brushed off his hands and turned back into the room, satisfied that no one would ever see. There was one piece still resting on the mantle, but it seemed quiet and wasn’t taking up much room, so he left it there. He could see it shudder and quiver, and could feel the hate erupt whenever he got near, so he left it alone.

Little God stared in fear at the creatures that had erupted from the box. He recognized them, but thought they had been killed years ago. One of them, the one that had been shoved back in the box, was a hatred for all things male that had attempted to take over the world, but had been quickly defeated. The other, the one that had escaped, was a hatred for all things female, and had also been defeated in the great battle that had ruptured the heavens until they were subdued. Now they were out…well, the one was out. Nothing in the world would be peaceful again, and it was his fault.

He didn’t notice Aunt Matilda until she grabbed him by the ear. “What have you done?” she shrieked. “How could you do that? You promised!” Little God didn’t even try to protest that he had only promised not to open the box. He was so ashamed of his mischief that he allowed Aunt Matilda to take him back to the heavens to face his punishment…fortunately, not having his liver eaten every day by a large eagle, but instead, he was turned into a human female. On second thought, maybe he’d have been better off having his liver eaten, because the creature had spread throughout the world, and was busy working mischief against all human females everywhere.

Rodney didn’t notice the gods. He only noticed the box, still resting on the table, quivering and moaning. He saw the creature on the mantle, and knew he’d better come up with some tale to tell his mother, one that she might believe.  He decided the best story he could come up with was that his sister opened the box. He headed off to bed, and in the morning, his mother believed him when he said, with his innocent face, that Pandora had opened the box.

Aunt Matilda rounded up a few of the pieces of the escaped creature, but most of them escaped her efforts, and remain loose in the world today.