The Box

It had come to a point where millions of scientists were working on the same project, all trying to uncover the secrets of the smallest particles known to exist.

We had long uncovered the secrets of the atom and had now managed to break down bosons and fermions into even smaller and vaster types of subatomic particles.

Ever since technology had been developed to deal with these new particles, battalions of scientists had been storming this new world to unveil its secrets.

Battalions, but under one command.

One mind to lead them all, one that had been lucky enough to be born in the right place, at the right time, with everything that was required to be put in such a position.

At the same time, another field of science focused instead on a macro view of the universe, general relativity, and the mystery of distant galaxies seemingly vanishing.

Seemingly, but not certainly.

The galaxies couldn’t be there, as we had ceased seeing them or experiencing their presence directly, but other celestial bodies nearby seemed to remain unaffected by their sudden disappearance.

But for those working in the microcosmos, the macrocosmos was a separate world and the responsibility of another branch of science and society.

Still, there were those who pondered whether each of these fields would help uncover secrets from the other one.

As years went by, the pattern of galaxies disappearing became clearer and predictable to a certain extent, and the probability that our own galaxy would suffer the same fate — whatever it could be — became alarmingly meaningful.

With the possibility that a link between both worlds could be found, even the quantum physics area worked faster, training more and more scientists by the year, recruiting more and more minds to the movement.

One particular team seemed to be making significant progress, and the most brilliant mind in science paid them a visit at the same time the reports arrived of the impending doom of our galaxy.

We’d be next.

Whatever was coming was getting nearer every day.

The lead scientist witnessed the beginning of the experiment as the team explained what was about to happen.

They were about to isolate the smallest particle ever found; the one that, if studied, could allow them control over matter and, perhaps, in some not yet obvious way, shine some light over the darkness.

The tiniest of boxes ever built was to be moved towards the particle until it engulfed it in its entirety, and then it would be closed.

It was the only way to study it in isolation.

The box moved ever so slowly in between the particles, breaking the connections between them in ways we could not unfold.

The scientists waited as the box approached the particle, yearning for the galaxy of knowledge it might uncover.

Others, or perhaps the same, wondered whether such knowledge would arrive before our fate.

The other team, also a battalion, still questioned whether the missing galaxies might still be there at all, considering that their disappearance didn’t seem to alter anything else in the universe.

As the box prepared to enclose the particle and the darkness was about to engulf us, the lead scientist shouted:

- Stop!

And everything did.

The box stopped moving.

And so did the darkness.