The Black Box
The girl in the too-tall patchwork tunic held a small black box in her hands.
It contained dark matter: the universe, in infant form.
The box’s former owner—a silhouette of a man whom the girl once called the Watcher of the Woods—gave it to her one cold winter’s night.
He never told her what the box held, only that it was important she protected it at all costs. The man left and never returned.
The girl had kept it safe for years while she tended to her woodland home. She hunted small game, gathered nuts and berries, and patched up her hovel of a dwelling when it needed to be repaired. She kept the fire going strong day and night. This kept the wolves and other predators at bay.
One evening, right around dusk, a boy crept through the forest. He was famished, and he smelled something sweet and savory lingering in the air—cutting through the thick pines.
He spotted a large fire and saw a flank of meat suspended above the flames.
The boy picked up a thick branch and wielded it like a club as he tiptoed closer. That’s when he spotted her: a girl, sitting at ease, near the fire.
Hunger drove him to madness.
Abandoning his position, he tore out of the woods on a dead sprint, screaming, running full-tilt toward the unarmed girl. He caught her by surprise. She yelled and stumbled backward, over a small bundle of logs.
The boy swung his club in a vicious downward arc, nearly clobbering her skull. She managed to roll out of the way just in time. He staggered over the logs, approached her, and took another swing.
He hit her broadside.
She buckled under the blow and collapsed in a heap near the flames. She was motionless. He dragged her away, tied her up with a few cords of thick vine, and then centered his attention on his supper.
He pulled the meat away from the flames and set to it immediately, despite the way it burned his mouth, his fingers—his insides. The ravenous boy devoured the food. His eyes turned black as the uncooked bits bled down his chin.
When he finished, the boy wiped his hands on the tall grass near the hut. Then he stepped inside.
There wasn’t much present: a bed of straw, a few crude weapons, and several bowls filled with various plants, seeds, and river rocks. But then he noticed something in the corner, resting atop a small, rickety table made of pine.
A black box.
Curious, the boy went to it and picked it up. He examined it, shook it, and held it to his ear.
“Mmm,” he grunted. He took it outside, brought it by the fire, and tried to pry it open with his hands. It wouldn’t give.
He stomped on it, beat it with his club, and even tried to cut into it with a nearby sharp rock. Nothing worked.
He looked at the girl—still unconscious—and then at the flames. Picking up the box, he tossed it in.
It didn’t take long for the box to sizzle. It hissed and spewed smoke.
And then, a black hurricane, an absolute calamity—the fists of a thousand gods—erupted from the tiny box. It devoured the boy, the girl, and everything in existence.
The wave became existence itself. It spread outward instantly, a never-ending force that broke boundary after boundary—line after line.
It was infinite.
Somewhere, far above, a silhouette of a man woke with a start. He looked at his timepiece, then examined the black sea before him.
“Goodness,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t ready. It wasn’t time.
But he knew in his soul it was time to get to work.
Thank you so much for reading “The Black Box” today. I really appreciate it! If you have the time, please feel free to let me know your thoughts on this one, or perhaps your interpretation of the story.
Take care. I hope you have a wonderful week!
For those interested, our next Fifties by the Fire prompt is below.
Would anyone like to meet up, hang out, and read and write some fifty-word stories by the fire?
Let’s shoot for this Friday, February 9th, at 3:00 PM EST. I’ll provide the marshmallows. You bring the stories!
Prompt: Use the word sphere in a fifty-word story (fiction, CNF, or poetry). Happy writing!
Loved this Justin. So vast, so epic and in such a short space of time. And it leaves the reader wanting more!
As a fan of mythology the box made me think of Pandora's box that allowed all evils to escape but kept hope contained. To me, that is what the boy and the girl represent. They are the hope that dies in the face of hunger and cold. Great little tale - I especially loved the four lines of exposition. So many ways you go from there!