Only Curious

i'm not always trying to be so deep and brooding. here's just something i wrote one day, hopefully to make you crack a smile.

Only Curious

 

I’D ALWAYS FELT SORRY FOR PANDORA. In a Greek myth, Pandora was wife to some hero or god. I don’t even remember him, but many people have heard of Pandora’s Box. The story goes that she opened the box, releasing hunger, pain, and sickness on mankind. She got blamed for all of that, so I’d always felt sorry for her.

       She was only being curious.

       This was the reasoning I was using as I looked warily frayed hat. I found it hanging in a tree on my way back home from school. It had a note attached that read, “NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY MUTATIONS, TERRIBLE HEADACHES, OR EXRUCIATINGLY PAINFUL DEATHS.” I did what came naturally. I picked it up.

       What? I was only being curious.

       I wore it as I walked the winter-seasoned streets of Albuquerque, New Mexico. There were patches of snow strewn about the areas shaded from the sun. I could see my breath as I pulled the hat over my ears.

       It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon; the sky was a melted blue, crispy white at the edges. I loved the cloudless sky and the busy city scene before me. That is, until my head started hurting. First, it was a dull ache. Then it rattled my eyeballs. I thought my brain was trying to burst out of my skull.

       I crumbled on the sidewalk as my legs turned to jelly, the pain clutching my head like a vice. Suddenly, I couldn’t hear a thing. My heart was in a boxing match with my ribcage, making it hard to breathe. It felt like someone whacked me in the brain stem a few times with a two-by-four.

       And just as fast as it came, it was gone.

       I unglued my eyes. The cement was roughly two inches from my pupils, so I scrambled back to my feet. What I saw next astounded me. Everything was stopped, like the city had been flash-frozen. Construction workers on the side of the road stood like statues, the dust kicked up from their machines like a photograph in the air. Birds above my head were stopped, just hanging there like the toy airplanes on strings, hanging above a baby’s cradle. It was dead silent, as if time just had a malfunction.

       From that point, I ran.

       I careened down streets, full-tilt, and nearly creamed a German shorthaired pointer, poised with his leg up by a tree. I didn’t stop until I barged into my house, bounding up the stairs, and finding the frozen figure of my brother in my room. I paused. Why was he in my room?

       I shook my head, organizing my thoughts boy importance. Stopped in time came before my insidious snooping brother… almost. I dragged him out into the hall and positioned him in front of the wall.

       Satisfied, I went searching for my mom, hoping to figure out something from there. Planning really wasn’t my forté. I found myself standing in the bathroom, staring mystified into the mirror.

       Suddenly, things got a million times worse.

       It wasn’t me in the mirror. Sure, he reflected my shock perfectly, but the problem: I’m not a boy. Horrified, I rummaged through the bathroom drawers like a cave spelunker. Finding the hand mirror I was searching for, I hesitantly held it to my face.

       It was a boy with a mop of brown hair, an aquiline face, and dark eyes. His ears " my ears " turned a dubious shade of crimson.

       Memories that weren’t mine filled my already-fried brain. The boy was named Thomas. He’d owned this hat before it started making him go crazy. I started turning into Thomas. I could feel my life fading. What was my name again?

       For lack of a better phrase, I completely flipped out. I rabidly ripped the hat off my head, shrieking like a banshee. I scrambled away from it, as if it would burn off my flesh.

       Instantly, the car engines outside roared back to life, and there was the sound of sizzling onions coming from downstairs. I could hear a muffled “oof,” as my brother walked into the wall, followed by a stupefied, “Who put that there?”

       “Honey?” came a voice from the bathroom door. My head snapped up and I jumped so high I must have cleared the sink. I wondered if I was frothing at the mouth. My dad stood there, looking a bit confused. A smile was tugging on the corners of his mouth, but he fought it back. “Why are you standing in the bathtub?”

Reviews

[Journey]

Thanks for sharing this entertaining story. It was humorous but it also contained a message of wisdom. One that we usually adhere to way to late. We are just as curious as the cat, but we don't have nine live. lol