Fiction
4 min
Pandora: The Story of Hope Conquering Evil
MaryEllis Killough
Sometimes, hope is strong enough to fight the wickedness of this world.
Yet, there are other days where evil dominates and unleashes havoc upon my soul. It is a consuming feeling and leaves me to ponder, How could hope ever win over these vile things?
I try to escape the creeping feeling of it, but the fear follows me everywhere. There is no trick that I can use or cure that I can concoct to expel the sensation. I tried to pray to the gods. I bowed and I begged for an explanation from my creators. Why me? Why do I have to carry these heinous things upon my weak shoulders?
Yet, there was no answer. I screamed for anyone to hear me, but only my husband, Epimetheus, could. And he could never understand my grief. I wondered if anyone could, even the glorious gods above. Perhaps that was why they shunned me from their mighty thrones. Even they didn't comprehend the atrocities I unleashed.
Most days, I lounge about and contemplate what I might have done differently. I wondered what pushed me to commit that heinous act. Was it just my nature? Boredom? Isolation?
I decided it was my isolation.
I was inherently lonely, seeing as I was the only one of my kind. Zeus called me Pandora, meaning gift to all. I was the first human and the first woman. The gods bestowed their affections through gifts and praise. Together, they crafted an irresistible woman. I was soon sent down from the heavens to live freely while still being under heavenly protection.
I lavished in that life for quite some time. I devoured plump figs and drank rich honey. I sang along to the sounds of the earth and slept surrounded by the sounds of the sea. I swam in the cool creeks in the afternoons and slept in the tall, pillowy grass.
Yet, I grew sick of that life. A lonely sensation soon started to creep over me. Before I knew it, it had settled into my bones. Joy drained from the world as I suddenly realized it was only me to inhabit it.
Luckily, Epimetheus stumbled into my life before I contemplated my loneliness further. His immediate infatuation was evident as he quickly scooped me up into his large hands and took me away. Epimetheus was not overtly kind, smart, or even handsome. I was just lonely. All I could think about was finally curing my plaguing loneliness.
We wed shortly after meeting, but our union didn't cure my affliction. Even though I had him, I was still incredibly lonely. I sat idle in the house my husband had built around me. I was gifted with skills lyre, weaving, and sewing, but I found no purpose in those tasks. The days were listless, and I often found myself wandering back to the tiny box sitting on my bed.
It slowly soon consumed my thoughts entirely. There was never a day when I didn't wonder what was inside. What intrigued me most was the ornate design. The box was art, gifted by Hermes himself. It was beautiful, and it was mine to keep. Yet, it never truly belonged to me.
That thought echoed in my brain day and night. I couldn't escape it. My little box wasn't mine. It was something bigger. I wanted to see all of it and own all of it. The only way I could do that was by opening it.
So, I did just that and opened it.
I expected a thunderous roar, heavenly beams, and priceless jewels to be locked inside. What I did not expect was a wheezing puff of stale and putrid air. I opened the lid fully to search the inside and found nothing. Just a dank and dusty box. Overcome with rage, I threw the box onto the floor and started to sob.
It was supposed to cure me of my loneliness, but nothing was there! I sank to the floor in my vulnerability. I cried and could not stop. Something dark and creeping was wrapping around me, laying its spindly fingers over my mouth and nose. I started to feel anger then hunger and defeat before utter helplessness. I felt it all.
This is what I untethered; this is what I brought upon the world. I couldn't help but wonder, Why me? Was this the plan all along? I wondered if I was doomed from the start or if I had forged this wretched path myself. Maybe I was a pawn for the gods, a way to shirk the burden of evil onto the shoulders of humanity.
All of these revelations rained down upon my fragile state. I curled into myself and began to tremble and rock.
I never quite knew how long I lay there on the ground and cradled myself. But if there is one thing I do know, it is that I unleashed evil into the world. Knowing this fact was the most isolating and suffocating experience. Sometimes I'm still unable to sleep, walk, or eat because of the strife I know I've caused. Yet, with that, came the realization of hope.
Sometimes, hope is strong enough to fight the wickedness of this world.
I learned that while weeping to myself on the ground. I had a sudden sense of relief. It was not oppressive or pungent, but instead, it was slight and calming. Hope spread itself across my body like a cooling salve and eased away my panic.
And for a moment, I didn't feel doomed by the world that surrounds me. My isolation finally tapered and dread faded until I felt almost calm. I was hopeful.
Every so often, the sensation of hope returns and keeps me tethered to this world. It reminds me that there is beauty, life, and another day ahead. Not even that can be stomped out by evilness. The world can be plagued by disaster and isolation and hatred, yet hope will remain and rise up again.
This was an entry for a writing contest held in conjunction with Center for Fiction and The Decameron Project
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