The Undecidable Wooden Box - Conspiracy Theories

 Today, after a long time, a post on conspiracy theories. Yes, I missed them too. 

The Indecisive Wooden Box

It looked like an ordinary box.

The wood was old and weathered, the fitting was heavy brass, and the lid was lined with a supporting silver symbol.

My father gave it to me after the state executed him for murder. He left no explanation or instructions, just a small, mysterious wooden box.

First I poured it into the river. The last thing I wanted was a reminder of a man who abandoned his son in favour of violence.

But, being the weak person that I am, curiosity soon overwhelmed me and I could no longer bear the mystery of the box. Opening the box, however, was easier said than done. Attempts to open the door with my hands only resulted in abraded fingers and broken nails.

Screwdrivers were broken, hammers were smashed, drilling motors were burnt out, but the contents of the box remained unreached, stuck in a wooden tomb, determined not to yield its secrets.

Eventually I gave up, did what I always do when I can't get what I want- told myself that whatever was inside wasn't worth the effort, and did my best to forget about it. But the box didn't let me forget so easily, and one night, while I was sleeping, it opened in its own way.

I woke up to an angry silver glow filling my bedroom and a deep sense of pervading cold that chilled the surroundings to complete stillness. As I sat up in bed, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of unfamiliarity, as if I had been transported to somewhere very similar to my own bedroom, but home to someone, or something, else.

A silver light bloomed under my wardrobe door, lending a sense of unreality to everything bathed in its palisade; a casting of strange shadows that darted and moved in the corner of my eye.

I felt myself standing up, even though I didn't want to. Slowly, silently, I crept over to the cupboard. The curls of my fingers brushed the doorknob, momentarily flinching from the chill. Then, with a firm, determined, grasp, I pulled the door open to reveal the box.

The hinges opened wide; the light that spilled out was piercing and intense. My eyes filled with light and felt as if they were about to burst, but I could not tear them away. I felt myself falling, slowly forward, into the abyss of silver light that had enveloped my horizon and become my whole being.

Just before it swallowed me, the box slammed shut. I found myself on the floor, my sweat-soaked cheek pressed tight against the cold, rough wood of the box.

I pushed myself back to my feet. The corrosive silver light disappeared, and my room seemed mine once more. But something was still not right. The cheek that had touched the box throbbed with burning pain. I staggered into the bathroom and rolled over in the light, gasping at my grotesque reflection.

The symbol on the top of the box was burned into my cheek. I touched it, but it was so disorienting. But the stamp wasn't the only souvenir the box had left me. I felt a presence inside me, an unwelcome guest in my mind.

I miss time and wake up in strange pubs with blood splattered on my clothes. But that is not what worries me most.

What worries me most is the call I received yesterday from my lawyer, asking me to explain the change I had made to my will.

He wondered why the only thing I wanted to leave when I died was an unopenable wooden box.

That will be all for this post I enjoyed writing it and you enjoyed reading it so we/you/we both/we/you win. Jes! See you again in the next post in 4 days. Have a great day and keep it up.