The Box

The box on the shelf was pretty big, but it blended in quite well. Very ornate, it was a misture of styles and clutures - as if the artist had taken a piece from every place and person and thing on earth and used it to make this box. It was a beautiful box.

When I first got it, I kept it in a prominent spot and always open. It's hard to find things to put in a box when the box is of so much more value. Overtime, the importance of the box diminished. Soon, I was able to find things to put in it, then I started locking it to hide the stuff inside. As more time passed, the box was moved to the shelf, then pushed to the side for newer and seemingly more important things. I actually forgot it was there, only noticing it when I had to dust the shelf.

One day an earthquake hit. It wasn't a big one, but just enough to knock things around. It mainly left a lot of broken glass on the ground. It also knocked down the box. I saw it there, its lock cracked and the lid slightly open. I stopped what I was doing and carefully picked it up. It didn't seem to have any damage, but I looked it over until I was sure. I carefully carried it out of the room and put it on the entry table, taking everything else away. The thought of it being ruined made me realize how much more I really did value it over all of the other broken things. I cleaned it up , emptied it out and left it open on the table - the most prominent spot in my home. Nothing fits in it and it will never be closed. I realized that the best part of the box was on the outside.