Kicks
09-12-2014, 02:39 PM
There was a box.
This box was a protector of all things precious. People could hide things away that meant a lot to them in this box. Sometimes the box would break, shatter, or open. Those who opened the box and revealed to the world what was precious to them could get hurt. Or they could live happily. It was a risk some were willing to take. And others, more stubborn people, weren't willing to take that risk. And so they lived their lives forever protecting what was precious to them.
Some people would gradually open their boxes to others or what seemed trusting. They would believe in that thing, and sometimes they would get hurt. But other times, just sometimes, they would open their boxes to just the right thing.
This box meant a lot to most people. It was a protector of things precious. Sometimes it was easy to break. But that was only when those who wanted what was precious to them to be open to the word. They were easily trusting. They could look at something so tempting and accept it. But other people weren't like that. There was a girl just like that. At first she had started out as someone who was so trusting. She would open her box to anyone or anything. But as life went on, she began to realize that some people and some things were only out there to hurt her.
In the box she hid away something special. It had been battered and bruised. It had been kicked and spat on. It was precious to her because it hurt too much when someone did abuse it. It was precious to her because it was her. So when they kicked or spat on it, when they beat it and whipped it, she had learned she needed to protect it. She couldn't openly hand it over to anyone. She couldn't just put trust in someone with it. Everyone was a risk to what was precious to her.
So she put it away in a box, this special thing. And she it from the rest of the world. Every now and again people would catch a gleam of it. Some wanted it, but they could never have it. They would ask for it, plead for it. But she was steadfast. What was in the box was hers. It was too precious to her.
She had made the mistake before to open her box up to people. She would let them take a peek. Willingly she would let them sometimes hold it. But when they started to hurt it... that's when she had to wrestle it away from them. She would tug and claw, scream and cry. There were times when she felt the crushing hands around it. But in the end she had always managed to snatch it back. It would come back bruised and shaken, hurt or stabbed. And away she would tuck it again into her box. It was precious to her.
One time she made a horrible mistake. She believed in a lie. But it was a sweet lie. She couldn't help herself. Sometimes lies seemed too honest to be a lie. And so she bought into it. And she slowly, ever so slowly, began to open her box to the lie. The lie was smooth. It wrapped itself around what was precious to her. As it wrapped itself around it she began to see another side to this lie. It was as if someone had given her x-ray glasses. At first she would see a glint of the lie. But as more and more time drove on she was starting to see more and more of the lie. The more it tried to wrap itself around what was precious to her, the more she resisted in letting it. And so she began to fight the lie too. The lie was strong. It held fast. It was bigger than she was. It tried to overpower her. But she couldn't let it. She couldn't let this lie take what was precious to her.
It was hard to fight the lie. The lie had been so sweet. It intoxicated her with its whispers. It told her of a promising future. It manipulated her into believing it. She wanted to continue believing in it. But she knew she could not. She could not let it hurt what was precious to her.
The lie was hard set, but she was stubborn. The war waged on between the lie and the girl. She struggled with it, and the more she struggled the more it tried to clasp on. But after enough strength from her side, she wrestled it away. And so she stowed it away in the box again. She couldn't let that lie try to take what was precious to her.
To hide it away in a box was tiring. To keep fighting was tiring. It was a war that never ceased. She sometimes found herself wishing that the world weren't too cruel and that she could open her box for everything. What she really wished for was not hiding what was in her box at all. She didn't want the box. She just wanted what was inside the box to be safe. The box was its safety, and what was inside the box was her treasure.
There was no map to her treasure. There was no key to the box. Those who ever found their way inside the box was only because she let them inside the box. She knew how important it was to protect what was inside her box.
She knew that it was too precious for her to let the world hurt it. She had seen so many other precious things hurt by this world. She didn't want her own to be like one of those.
So she hid it. She kept it in the box. And so in the box it stayed. And she remained happy, cautious, and on guard.
Part 5 and 6 of the September Story
Previous Installment (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=65398&p=2593593&viewfull=1#post2593593)
They stood staring at the room and its contents for a long time. The table still stood in the middle of the room, as it has always. Eight of the chairs still stood around the table, two of the others have fallen down and the one which was at the head is missing completely.
The walls are slightly yellowed with age. The floor, still gray, is obviously dirty. Near the far wall, where the jagged remains of the broken window are scattered, there are bits of moss and mold. A few leaves have blown into the room, and their brown corpses are scattered across the floor.
As Miranda and Paul stood immobile, still trying to figure out how they arrived at this hidden place, Lyra went ahead and began to walk around the table. Some of the boards creaked as she neared the floor's damaged end, yet she continued her walk. She was attempting to reach the small box located at the table's head.
"Lyra, wait!" shouted Miranda, shocked out of stupor by the creaking of the weak boards, "Don't hurt yourself!"
Lyra, already at the head of the table, looked up and smiled, "It's okay, Auntie. I'm fine." She picked up the small box and came back around to their end. She held the box up to Miranda. It was a small box, about the size of a square tissue box. It was made of some metal, probably copper, considering it was green in color. Two strings, tied in a bow, held the lid on the box.
Miranda, not even paying attention to the box, hugged little Lyra. How thankful she was that the girl had made it back alive! It would have been awful if it had been otherwise. Too many people had died. Much too many.
Lyra stayed in her arm for about half a minute. Then, impatient, she wriggled free and again held up the small box. "Look, Auntie." she said again, "What's inside?"
Not really caring too much- Miranda was still just glad that the girl had survived- but wanting to make her happy, she knelt down and held the box in her hands. "You open it." she said, smiling.
Lyra grabbed the two ends of the ribbon. When she tugged, the ribbon, old, fell apart in her hands. She looked at the two fragments in her hand for a moment, shrugged, and dropped them. She then tried to pry off the lid. It was stuck.
After allowing her to try for a bit, Paul knelt with them. "Here," he said, "Let me help." He held out his hand. Lyra placed the box into it. He turned it on its side and placed it on the stained floor. He then wedged his pocket knife- one of the gifts from his late father- into the thin gap between the lid and the box. He wiggled it around for a bit. Then, he took it out and did it on the next side. Once he had sufficiently loosened it, he turned to Lyra. "Here, you can open it now."
She grabbed the box. Holding it sideways, she pulled on the lid with one hand and the box with the other. She tugged, and tugged some more. Just as Paul was beginning to think it might need a bit more help, the lid, with a small "pop" came off the box.
They all looked inside. It seemed to have been shut off from the air pretty well. The inside metal of the lid was still shinny. The red velvet looking cloth that lined the other side was still soft and in one piece. And crammed in the bottom was a small plastic baggie. Lyra opened it. Inside that was a sealed letter envelope. And inside that was a couple of sheets of typed paper. "You read." said Lyra, handing the letter to Miranda, "It looks boring." She gave the papers to Miranda and picked up the box again, feeling all the somewhat smooth sides.
And Miranda began to read silently, with Paul peering over her shoulder.
To whoever is reading this,
First off, I am sorry. I am sorry for everything. Indeed, I am thankful for only one thing- that this box survived to hold the note, and that you have survived to read this small scrap of paper. Whether you are reading this sooner or later, know that things did not work out like we planned- in more than one way. Yes, we voted to shut down the experiment. Yes, you or your ancestors were part of that failed experiment. This you probably know. But what came after you most likely do not know: one experiment ended, and another began. Yet, we never intended for there to be another one, this second one.
Yes, if you are reading this, you are part of project ALFb, unless you are really much later, and have found this small green box, the only color in the surrounding gray of old dust and ashes. If this is the case, join me in the mourning of all those lost. But I do not believe that is the case with you, for I doubt this letter, even in its box would survive the harsh conditions of the End Times, or so they have been referred to in all those new plans. No, you are most likely an unknowing participant in this experiment, and for that, I again apologize.
You may remember the Great Announcement, in which I myself proclaimed the closing of ALF, or maybe you were not yet born, and only know the story your mother or grandmother told. However you heard, know that this event is true, and at that time I did not know what would happen later. None of us did. If we did, the vote would not have gone the way it had. For we thought that would end some pain, and doing so, would only cause a bit more. None knew what would really happen, what our higher-ups, in turn, were planning.
I am rambling, I know. It is just what happened next... It hurts my heart to think of it. I again apologize. But you are waiting. Here is the story then. Your own sad history:
Project ALF, as you know, was a utopian project. However, the details were never revealed to you, even when you were made aware of the nature of the lives you lead. Not only were place names fabricated, and people lying, but everything around you was- and is- in some way, false. You are right now standing in a biosphere, completely cut off from the world. The sun over your head is a mere projection, and all of the plants around you are genetically modified. But that is not the worst of the information. No, the worst of it is that it is all being left to die, if it has not already. And you, poor child, are still here.
It is always a hope that society can do better, that people are, in there essence, good. And yet, in the very places we expect to see this, society proves itself to be the opposite. And so it was in this utopia. You yourself saw it: greed, although there was enough for all, and envy, for although all had the same stuff, not all could be perfectly the same. And all the other vices perpetuated through the ages since the fall of man. And so, as we the successors of the founders saw their dreams dashed and the funds diminishing, we made the decision to shut down the program. The gradual shutting down was supposed to occur over a period of ten years, during which all of you participants were to be introduced to the outside world, slowly and with our guidance, with a small sum of money from what remained in the treasury to help you adjust.
But this was not to be. For though we voted for this, and though we announced immediately after that the project was shutting down, we never helped you leave. For unknown to us, one of our founders had written, in secret, an "if" file into the program. Someone had, it seemed, from the begining had doubts about the success of this specific project. But this someone was determined that the work all of them had put in would not be in vain. And so, there was a secret file written, one that would only be revealed if the project was shut down in failure.
Surely you remember how the announcement ended. How I tried to say more, and then everything fuzzed out. Something in the aired message had triggered some hidden program If only you had been able to see a few minutes more, and seen how the building we were in quaked, and everything that followed. The storm, which had been blowing all day, seemed to increase, and the wall between the room and the outside fell off. Everyone jumped. We were all already on edge because of our decision, and this did not help. The glass shattered beneath the building, but the sound could barely be heard above the roaring storm. Then, the storm stopped suddenly. There was a hissing sound, and around the edges where the window had been attached to the wall, some sort of mist was spewing out. And then, on that mist screen, an image was projected.
It was fuzzy. The now revealed screen was old, and the recording itself seemed to be just as ancient. Nevertheless, the message was clear: there would be no way we could get everyone out. A ring of fire sprung up around the building. Outside, we could hear the sounds of terror as people ran. However, I, and the other nine in the building with me (Poor, poor Mr. Gredings- you may remember him- had been outside. God rest his soul) soon gathered in the room. We could feel the heat rising through the window, but we were safe. And we were offered a choice. We could stay, and tell all of what had happened personally to those we met. But if we chose this, we would not receive the information on how to exit. It would be left to chance whether or not we would find the way out. Or, we could elect to leave the grounds now, and receive, afterwards, information on how to get everyone else out. But if we did this, we would not get to tell the people how to leave directly. And, no matter which we chose, we would have to choose together.
We chose to leave. Our choice was a combination of many things, including a desire to help. However, it was probably mostly one of fear. Could we face what we had done to you, as the lakes and rivers would slowly dry up, as extreme weather would become more frequent, as new and horrible diseases would afflict you? We were afraid of these things, but we were more afraid to face your ancestors, those who had trusted us and would now see what we had done.
The moment we announced our decision, a long, obaque oblong box slid in front of the window. We could not tell how, but it was somehow hovering on the air. A door slid open, and it took us away. As we left, we were given the promised information on how to leave, which I will relate to you in a few moments- the information given was saddeningly brief and cryptic. The end of the story is near. Before we left the box, we were given one last thing to do- each of us would be allowed to write one letter, which would explain the way out and say whatever else we wished to say. The letters would then be placed in boxes and placed in ten special places within the Project. Hopefully, at least one would be found. Thank goodness you have stumbled upon this one.
I wish you best of luck as you try to make your way out, and once again apologize for the mess you find yourself in. May whatever you find outside be as good or even better as what we will soon step into- for even I do not know exactly what has been going on outside the Project. But best of luck to you all. You will likely need it.
-G. Mileners
And now, the instructions:
This is as they were given. I have not knowingly left anything out.
"The door to the world is in the center, for to climb out you first must go all the way in. The golden key is in the box, hidden beneath the velvet lining.
This key unlocks the only door out. There are twelve such keys, but only one door.
This key, like the others, will break if used improperly.
There are many ways, but only one correct path. Choose wisely, or you will loose what matters most."
Once again, I am sorry and I wish you the best of luck.
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