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A story


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In an attempt to ease the ceaseless boredom I have, I wrote a story.


Once there was a boy who lived in a box. He had lived there his entire life. It had a single bed, a toilet, and food was on the table each morning before he woke up. The walls and floor were hard and gray and cold.


The boy's life was monotonous, learning from the small books that were left with the food (although he couldn't recall when he learned to read), dozing after he had accomplished that, sleeping once dozing became too much. Each day seemed to slip into the next.


One day, a hole appeared in the wall. Peering into the hole, he met another boy. "Hello," said the other boy through the hole in the wall. "I was unaware that there was someone next to me. My name is Benethic. What's yours?"


"I do not have one," the boy said. "I have never needed one. I did not know anything existed outside these walls."


"Well," Benethic said with a grin, "I just so happen to have a window that allows me to see the outside world."


"So what is outside this place?" the boy was curious to what else existed.


"It used to be a wonderous place," Benethic said, his voice growing heavy. "It was vast and green and beautiful. But then they came."




"People. People like us, only they aren't limited to these small boxes. They are free."


The boy thought about it. "It must be wonderful to be free," he said.


"Yes," Benethic agreed, "but those who have it use it for vile things."


"Like what?" the boy inquired.


Benethic told the boy of the atrocities that the free people exhibited upon the land and themselves. How they slaughtered each other without reason, how they destroyed the very land they lived off of.


The boy listened intently to each of Benethic's descriptions of the outside day after day. Each day, the tales grew even more ghastly. This continued every day, until the boy grew into a young man and reached a conclusion; he would get out, and punish mankind for what he was doing.


One morning, when the young man woke up, after finishing the meal, he picked up the utensil and started carving at the wall adjacent to the one with the hole, stopping only to listen to Benethic's tales in the evening. Everyday, this action fell into monotony, but the young man still continued. He could not forgive humanity.


After weeks or even months of picking away at the wall, the young man broke through. It was a small hole, smaller than the one linking his room to Benethic's. He worked harder, expanding the hole until it was a foot around, and the wall crumbled.


Stepping over the rubble, the young man looked around, expecting the wasteland that Benethic had described. He only found a hallway, with walls the same as the young man's entire world was.


The young man noticed something that shocked him. Where Benethic's cubicle was, the hallway branched off. Running down, the young man saw that there was no way for Benethic to see even this hallway, the walls of his cubicle were smooth and unbroken.


The young man ran until he found a wall that looked different. It had a metal bar along it, and a sign along side it read push. He pushed the wall, and it swung open, shining a glaring light into the hall.


After his eyes adjusted, the young man saw the world. It was vast and green and beautiful, just as Benethic had initially described. There was a small cluster of buildings, but the people there were not killing each other. The land was not dead.


Benethic had lied.

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Benithic did not lie. Some land remains unspoiled even after they came. They spoiled most of it anyway' date=' but happiness still remains. Maybe it was not true, but this was great.



It was to say that human existence is not all bad, perhaps even innocent.


That is what makes the story so good.

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Compared to my other works' date=' it does.



You know, I think I've finally figured out why it bothers me so much when people are "modest" about their work. Its actually insulting us by saying we can't judge good work. We're praising you. Accept it.

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