You’ve heard Pandora’s story, but did you ever wonder what happened inside the box?

By Ryan Walsh

Hope counted her siblings.  They weren’t there, she knew that well enough.  Yesterday she’d said her siblings’ names, so today she needed to count.  Tomorrow she’ll tell herself about their parents, and what they did, and how they all came to be. The day after, she’d say her siblings’ names again.  She couldn’t do much in her box all alone, so she reminded herself of what she’d lost.  That way, when they came back, she’d know who they all were.

She was just counting the fifty-third brother when she realised she hadn’t scratched the day gone by yet.  There was no light in her little box; she never needed any.  Hope always looked forward to scratching.  Scratching was the only thing she got to do every day; it was the only thing that hurt, too.  She’d ruined her usual nail, so it was the pinky’s turn to scratch.  The pinkies couldn’t scratch smoothly; they always needed to do little bits at a time.  If she kept at it, the pinkies might grow strong.

Hope felt the wall. She was sure she’d left a spot here yesterday, ready to make today’s scratch. It was good to have things to do.  She wasn’t bored, alone in her box.  Still feeling around, she thought about how proud her parents would be that their daughter should make such a nice life for herself.

She was all the way to the corner and still no space.  She hadn’t noticed before that there was so little space left.  She’d found a spot right away yesterday.  She kept feeling up and down the wall.  There were so many scratches; Hope had never noticed before how many she’d made.  She kept feeling up and down, and left and right, until she’d covered every bit of her wall, and every bit was filled with scratches.  Hope wondered how there were so many, how she could have been in there so long and not realised it.

Still feeling the wall, Hope sat on the floor and paused.  Maybe this was a good thing.  She’d obviously been very good about her scratching for a long time.  Maybe she should take a vacation.  But she liked her routine; it kept her thinking about what she needed to do each day.  She wondered what it would be like, not to do those things for a while, just to have time to think, to take a little break.

Hope began searching the next wall for a space; she was ready to scratch the instant she found it.  She was still ready after searching the top half of the wall, but by the time she was on her knees, still searching, she no longer felt so ready. Another wall of her life gone. She was all alone.

Her siblings had gone so long ago, she knew that now.  She would scratch the days, count her siblings, say their names, think of their family, and one day they would come back for her and she’d know them right away and it would be as it was before.  They weren’t supposed to take this long, she told herself. They would realise they’d left her behind before long, and they’d come back.  She tried not to think about other things.  It distracted her.

Hope searched the next wall.  She found many scratches and no smooth space.  She started her counting again, aloud now, to give some sense of accomplishment to the act.  Seventy-two brothers and twenty-nine sisters were counted before her fingers grazed the last bit of the third wall, and she thought she heard Sister Eighteen say something.  She whipped her head around, trying to find her, the one that had finally come for Hope.  She tried to clean herself up; she must look bad after so much time spent feeling the walls.  She saw no one, and she realised she’d just heard her own echo. One wall to go. She told herself not to speak aloud unless she knew she was talking.

She searched the last wall for a bit of space.  It was so strange. She’d been careful to keep her scratching small and precise; she’d checked, and every scratch was small and precise, every single one.  She wondered when she’d first had the idea to start scratching at the walls.  She tried thinking back that far, but could only remember the day she and her siblings had rushed for the bright opening of the box. She remembered the flash of black wavy hair against olive skin, and the hand that slammed the box shut just as she was about to leave.  Without thinking about it, she touched her hand to the lump on her head where she’d hit it. After that hand, she didn’t think she could ever feel so cheated again. She was so busy thinking that she nearly missed it when her fingers didn’t feel a scratch.

But she didn’t miss the smooth spot, and her worries went away.  She didn’t need to think about how long she’d been alone, or the horrible brute that kept her there, or the brothers and sisters that had left her behind. It wasn’t that long at all. There was still plenty of space.  Then she double-checked.  She’d scratched a group of days very close together, and on first feel they seemed to be smooth.  It must have been a very long time ago.  Nobody’s perfect. She felt the last part of the last wall.  She was afraid, but she had to make sure that every bit of her box was felt. She sat down and was still. For a while there was nothing.  She’d stopped counting. 

By the time she noticed she was crying she was bawling.  She hugged her legs so tightly that her knees threatened to choke the life out of her.  Hope might have let them if she could, but she could only collapse onto the floor. She lay there until the puddle of tears reached her fingers.  She panicked and pulled her hand away, not having felt wet in what was a very long time.  She wiped her hands and let them fall back to the floor and something clicked in her head.  She’d felt her empty space.

Dancing with delight, she was soon at a corner ready to start her day’s work. She had the whole floor to scratch now.  She didn’t think she’d lost count of her siblings, but she would start again just to be sure.  The next day she would make a new scratch on the floor; there was so much room. Then she would tell herself the story of her family, and the next day – she decided right there that she would make it to a new day.

She’d been waiting for her siblings too long.  It was time she made her own way out of the box to find them.  They’d be so proud of her for getting herself out.  They could be together again.  That idea made Hope very happy.  She kept digging, very careful not to make the scratch too long or too wide.  She mustn’t seem upset.  She would see everyone again one day.  All she had to do was stay the same: the same as she always was.