The Man and The Box
A Tormented Mind On Display
He was beaten, badly.
So many times he had risen from knockouts and defeats, yet this time was different. The Brightest Lights in his life are now barely glowing as he allows his darkness to creep its grasp, coldly closing in ever tighter around every part of his being. He had wandered as best he could, waiting for the inevitable, deliberating a hastening fall.
He had no guarantee of shelter. No shelter meant day after day of cold food. Thirty years of Chronic Hell from a “disorder” in his genes wasn’t helping. Distance separated him from a scattered family, as those near him grew more distant while watching him decline.
In his mind he watched as his Demons and Despair unceremoniously shoved what was left of his psyche into a large opened box, closing it and storing it neatly on a shelf as he oft did to them.
He could see his box sitting on its shelf and at the same time, he could feel the darkness inside it enveloping him with its cloak of never-ending sorrow. He could see a name emblazoned across the front of the box.
Pandora.
So this is it then. An impactfully personal Tale it seems.
His Demons and Despair run freely through his mind sowing chaos, sorrow, and hopelessness. The only thing left behind in the…
