The Box (Short Story) by Matilda Nedyalkov

Depending on how you look at it, the world begins with a box.
It’s an ornate shape, all gilded edges and carved masterpieces, stories etched into its skin, a little
pulsing heart beneath its surface, as alive as any human. She sees it, bathed in glorious golden
light, and raises it into her outstretched palms, human greed getting the better of her. If only she
knew of the sin contained within, if only her mortal eyes were strong enough to see what was
really there, she might have lowered it back down. She might have turned on her heel and
ignored its decadent beauty.
But a human never knows when to stop pushing boundaries, to stop warping reality, to stop
turning everything around them into something they know. So, she opens it, and immediately
she sees the empty expanses of the universe, everything good and noble and swathed in sunlight
– and then she sees the dark. It spews from the box’s depths like smoke, devouring everything in
its path. With it comes something else, something she can’t quite place. It makes a deep gnaw
grind in her stomach, rock her bones, drive into her skull, something bigger than the world she
knows, bigger than the world around her will become.
Fear courses through her, the sort of fear of a hunted animal, and she steps back, trying to force
the lid back down. The gold veins press against her fingertips, and for a moment, she feels the
pulse, now roaring like a wind, fierce and violent and desperate, as she pushes all the power in
her body into her arm, fighting to close the box.
But it’s too late, and she knows it.
Pandora, sweet, clever, naive Pandora, what have you done?
Pandora, crafted with the sole purpose to be perfection incarnate. Pandora, love of the entire
universe, all things made to be great. Pandora, formed by the sky and born of the sun. Pandora,
destroyer of worlds, mother of mankind, curse of humanity. Pandora, what have you done?
Trapped in her own mind, she doesn’t see what opening the box has done --- how can she see,
when there is only darkness?
Cold emptiness sweeps through her, whipping her hair like a winter gale, screaming in her ears,
and then, her eyes truly open. She looks back at the box, and though it is empty now, she sees
what rested there, curled up and waiting. Death, famine, war, decay, greed, vengeance, all
wrapped together, intertwined like a great nest of vipers, thrashing mouths open to reveal
sharp teeth, poised at her.
Pandora shrinks back in terror, beautiful eyes wide, and in those eyes the universe is reflected,
torrents of black staining warm honey brown as the evils course through the galaxies, painting
everything with darkness. She shudders, tears forming in her vision, but as she cries, she finds
herself wondering – is this the end?
Or is it just the beginning?
And the answer, my friends, might be as dreadful and horrific as the question; because,
depending on how you look at it, the world began with a box – and with a box it will end.