Pandora's Box
The Scream
“Where should we go next?” Kris asks.
“Well Tao and I…” Yixing gulps.
“We found a passage. There was a statue, but we couldn’t move it…” Kris nods. Yixing leads the way, retracing his steps. Soon he finds himself back in that room, the room Tao started going crazy…
“It looks like those stairs go down,” Kris says, pointing.
“The statue’s like the others. I can move it.” Kris pushes the statue to the left, breathing heavily.
“You’re injured!” Yixing exclaims. Kris gives a small shrug.
“Yeah. Tao must have gotten to me. But it’s OK, so long as you’re safe.” Yixing gives him a small smile, taking his hand as they descend the stairs.
“What is this?” Yixing yells.
The path is narrow, but it seems to be carving its way through the stars. Literally. Yixing watches in surprise as the walls around them seem to replicate space. All is dark, but occasionally a white bead of light seems to wobble in his sight. Yixing goes to touch the wall, but he soon finds there is nothing there.
“Xing, careful!” Kris yells, holding him close.
“It looks like there’s nothing beyond the walkway…” Yixing mumbles.
“We’ll have to tread carefully,” Kris says. They continue downwards slowly.
THUD!
Yixing lets out a shriek, glancing behind him. He expects to see Tao chasing after them, but he is met with something perhaps even more terrifying. The floor is sinking into the nothingness.
“!” Kris yells, grabbing Yixing’s arm. He runs down the stairs, not even looking back. Yixing almost stumbles a couple of times, as Kris’ legs are long and he must make double the steps he does.
“The path ends!” Kris shouts.
“No, look!” Yixing responds. There’s a jump they have to make, but Yixing is unsure if this ground is even safe.
It looks like scribble. It looks like a five year old has tried to draw a fluorescent, purple road in the sky. Kris takes a running jump, leaving Yixing in his wake. It’s solid ground. Yixing hesitates, looking back. The collapsing floor is right on his tail. Yixing doesn’t think he can make the jump.
“Xing, jump! I’ll catch you!” Kris shouts.
“No!” Yixing yells back. He doesn’t like heights; he’s feared any high places ever since his cousin fell from their balcony. Though his cousin was mostly unscathed, just leaving with a few small grazes and a very angry mother, it had left Yixing with bad memories.
“I can’t!” Yixing shouts at Kris, wiping his eyes. Kris stands on the other side, waving his arms about haphazardly.
“Xing, do you trust me?” he screams. Yixing inhales and nods.
“Then jump! I promise you’ll be alright!”
It takes Yixing agonizing seconds to pack up the courage to make the leap. He backs up a few steps, screaming as he almost trips backwards. He rights himself, pushes his momentum forward, and breaks into a run.
“Xing!”
His eyes are closed, and he feels the sickening feeling of weightlessness.
“Kris!” he screeches.
“You’re OK!” Kris replies, breathless.
Yixing feels himself hitting something heavy, and gasps as he opens his eyes. He’s on top of Kris, on the floor. Kris has his arms wrapped around Yixing’s middle, and Yixing can’t help but peck him on the nose.
“That was terrifying,” he whispers into Kris’s ear.
“It was, but we made it. I told you that you could trust me!”
Yixing stands up, dusting himself off. He holds out a hand for Kris, who gladly takes it. The pair travels down this new path for a few minutes, but it seems to stretch on forever, right through space. Yixing wishes he could see Earth or any of the planets from his place, but all there is that lines his sight is the occasional star and darkness.
“Where do you think this leads?” Yixing breathes.
“I don’t know…”
THUD!
“What now?” Yixing howls. There is the sound of childish laughter, and Yixing shivers.
THUD THUD THUD!
“Woah!” Kris shouts.
There’s drawings in the sky, seemingly drawn in crayon. Childish drawings. Stars, a moon, love heart, flowers; your typical five-year-old drawings.
“What is going on?” Kris questions.
Yixing has no answer for him, for he’s too busy staring at his surroundings.
SKETCHBOOK
The word is etched into the blackness, and real seems to become unreal. Everything seems to become childish scribbles; flowers that grow out of the path, even typical colourful box houses with two windows, a door, and a chimney puffing out smoke. Strange music fills the atmosphere. Like a familiar lullaby, but in an awkward key.
“Well, now… this is a significant change in atmosphere…” Kris mumbles to himself. Yixing nods, freaked out.
Kris turns to him, eyeing him carefully.
“Xing, it’s nothing we can’t handle, right? Let’s go.”
Kris leads the way, walking over to one of the houses that has seemingly sprung itself out of nowhere. He pushes the door handle, and it opens, to Yixing’s surprise.
There’s a small room, with a large round table in the centre. A television set sits off to the left, and a strange looking clock sits hangs on the wall. The clock isn’t ticking. Everything is a scribble drawing, and Yixing can hardly make out where one thing ends and the other begins. The only thing he knows is real is Kris’ reassuring presence.
“There’s a portrait,” Kris says, pointing. It’s a man, dark hair, dark eyes, and a squiggle for a mouth. He’s wearing a bright red shirt.
“Father,” Kris reads. He thinks for a minute.
“No way…”
Kris shuffles through his pockets, pulling out the gallery guide. Surely enough, the portrait on the wall seems to match the photograph of Guertena that sits above his biographical section in the flyer.
“What?” Yixing asks. Kris hands him the guide.
“This… it could be Tao’s…”
“What?” Yixing repeats.
“Quick! Let’s get out of here!”
Yixing and Kris pace the walkways, straining their ears for any sound, any sign that Tao could have followed them. Nothing.
“Let’s try this way…” Yixing says.
They continue on a path to the right, finding before them an even larger building. The walls are a grey, the windows a dazzling yellow. There’s a sign to the left of it.
“Gallery,” Kris reads aloud.
Yixing tries the door, but it doesn’t budge at all.
“Let’s just keep going,” he tells Kris.
The path continues on, revealing a small garden. The grass appears blue, and Yixing can’t understand why. Grass is always green. There are bright yellow butterflies that flutter about aimlessly, and beyond that a white house with a brown door. To Yixing’s surprise, it seems to be upside down.
“Hang on,” he tells Kris, walking over to it. There’s a note on the door.
“There are instructions on the pink building! Read them to open this door.” Yixing furrows his brow. Pink building?
“It must be further up,” Kris tells him.
“Yeah.”
The path seems to fork into two, and Yixing points out that there is indeed a pink house up one of the pathways.
“How about we try it?” he says.
“Sure.”
Surely enough, within the pink house, there is a lone note on a grey floor.
“Turn the handle.”
Kris starts laughing loudly, holding his head in his hands.
“Are you serious?” he giggles.
Yixing tears the note up and throws it back on the ground.
“Stupid,” he mutters. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”
“Hey, at least this place has a sense of humour,” Kris responds with a grin.
“I suppose…”
The pair backtrack, to the white house. Yixing opens the brown door, to reveal a small living space. There’s a brown square table in the corner, with a vase filled with red roses sitting on it. A hat stand sits beyond the threshold, and there’s surprisingly a wall running through the centre. Beyond the wall are a chest of brown drawers, and a blue bucket. A small pink stuffed rabbit lies on the floor.
Kris picks up the bucket, carrying it in his hands.
“We might need it later,” he tells Yixing. Yixing nods. The pair turn to leave, but they hear the front door slam shut.
“Yixing… Kris… Where are you?”
It's a familiar voice. Yixing grabs hold of Kris’ arm, holding his breath. He swallows heavily, the air seeming thicker and the light growing dim.
“Quick, behind the wall!” Kris whispers, pulling Yixing towards him. They hear footsteps, and a scrunching sound. The door slams once again.
“Don’t tell me… that was…” Kris begins. Yixing nods.
“He’s after us.”
Yixing quickly searches beyond the wall, seeing that all is clear, he steps out, pulling Kris behind him. He gasps. The red roses are all over the floor, crushed. The vase has smashed, the water pouring over the table. But that is not all that has changed. The walls and doors have scratch marks all over them, like someone has run a knife up and down repeatedly, causing splinters. Odd, green liquid trails down from each incision.
“Weird,” Yixing breathes.
“Come on, Xing. There was a path beyond the pink house, we might as well try that, right?”
Kris and Yixing follow the pathway, heading northwards when the path forks once again. There’s a large, blue pond of crayon. Like everything else, it has the scrawl-like quality of a child’s artwork.
“Maybe this is what we use the bucket for?” Kris asks. Yixing gives him a small nod.
“But I don’t know what to do after that...”
“I think I do,” Kris tells him, dipping the bucket in the lake, surprised when some of the scribble seems to move like water into the blue walls of the bucket.
“There was a flower, in front of that other house. You know, the one we first entered,” he tells Yixing. Yixing shrugs.
“I wasn’t paying any attention.”
“Well, there were two flowers. One was happy, the other sad,” Kris says.
“They had faces on them?” Yixing asks. Kris gives a curt nod.
“I bet we have to water the sad one.”
Yixing nods. Despite everything, this sounds somewhat logical.
“OK,” Yixing says.
“But we have to be careful. Tao might come back.”
Yixing follows Kris back down the path, until they’re standing before the house with the round table and the odd portrait of Guertena. Like Kris said, there are two flowers, one happy, one sad. Kris pours the contents of his bucket onto the ground around the sad flower, and Yixing watches in surprise as the flower’s lips curve upwards. The petals seem to flutter about, and suddenly a golden object is dispelled onto the ground.
“It’s a key,” Yixing tells Kris, picking it up.
“I bet it opens the doors to the gallery,” Kris agrees. He puts down the bucket and takes the key from Yixing, running it through his fingers.
“I have a feeling we’re almost out of here,” Kris explains.
“I think we can actually make it.” Yixing smiles at Kris, hoping with all his heart that the tall blonde is right.
The pair enters the gallery, gasping at the sight before them. There’s a large wall painted light lavender. But this is not what shocks them. Yixing and Kris are painted on one side of the wall, each holding in their hands their roses. Yixing’s a red, Kris’ a deep blue. On the other side of the wall is Tao, his hands held up in the air, dancing. An odd looking doll sits between his legs. Kris shivers, looking away. They are all happy; all twirling around excitedly.
Yixing’s eyes search lower still, finding a strange-looking box sitting between each of the drawings, like a barrier. For Yixing, it separates reality from unreality.
“What is it?” he asks Kris. There are two words written above it, but they’re both in English, and Yixing can’t understand it. Maybe Kris can.
Kris stands thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes tracing over the letters. He lets out a small sigh of defeat, and Yixing gives him a questioning glance.
“It says ‘Pandora’s Box’,” he says.
Yixing walks over to it, letting his fingers trace along the lid. The box is cold and metallic, with a smooth feel. He suddenly feels anxious, inquisitive. He wants to know what could possibly be inside. This isn't like him, he thinks to himself. He should just let it go. But the words pour out of his mouth without his control.
“Should we open it?” he asks. Kris shakes his head.
“I don’t think that’s the best idea.”
“Why not? There could be something inside. Some form of escape?” Kris stares at Yixing, long and hard.
“I don’t know…”
“Please?”
Kris sighs in defeat.
“Alright… but I don’t trust it…”
Yixing shrugs, tracing his fingers over the lock. He runs his nail underneath the edge of the box, smiling as he lifts the lid. Yixing jumps back, yelling profanities. Weird, swirly designs seem to jump out of the box, flying through the air. Each has its own odd colour. Kris watches as they spiral outwards, out of the gallery. He walks over to the box and looks inside.
“There’s a mirror,” he says, taking the small object into his hands. He looks at himself, running a hand through his hair.
It’s no longer its usual dirty blonde; instead, it is matted with blood from cuts and injuries that have long healed themselves.
“I think this mirror is… hope.”
Kris remembers the story of Pandora’s Box well, it was read to him frequently as a child by his mother. After his parent’s had divorced and he had moved back to China from Canada, his mother had been one to constantly remind him of the good and evil of the world.
Every action has its consequences.
“Where do we go now?” Kris asks.
They have left the gallery, retracing their steps. Yixing is sure there are places they have not explored yet, but he has a funny feeling that the further they go forward, the more likely they are to run into Tao.
“Wait,” Yixing breathes, pointing to the familiar blue grass.
“What is it?” Kris asks.
“One of the butterflies… it’s different.”
Kris glances over the grass, eyeing the butterfly intently. It’s different from the others, no longer yellow. It is a dark orange, it’s wings homing two strange blobs of green.
“It is different,” Kris agrees.
Yixing walks over to it, catching it in his hands. It climbs across his fingers and flutters away.
“Let’s keep going,” Yixing mutters.
Kris and Yixing take a path that they have not explored yet, one that heads in the opposite direction to the pink house. There’s another strange building here. Yixing is quick to realise that the door is locked; the door handle cold. It’s frozen over, with a layer of ice on the door. An orange sun is scribbled into the background, and its path of light seems to be traced with an orange glow that emanates from the ground below him. The house is blue, with an intricate white pattern etched above the door. Yixing thinks this looks somewhat like an eye, as the door is a lighter blue than the rest of the building’s walls.
“What do you think we do?” Kris asks.
“Not sure…” Yixing grumbles, eyebrows creased, deep in thought.
“Wait!” Yixing walks over to Kris, holding out his hand.
“Give me the mirror,” he says.
“Why?” Kris asks, handing it over gingerly.
“We can maybe unfreeze the door,” Yixing explains, tilting the mirror so that it catches the sun’s light.
“How?” Kris asks.
“Watch.”
Yixing places the mirror on the ground, tilting it slightly to the left. The orange sun casts its glow on the mirror’s surface, and Yixing lets this reflect backwards, until the orange glow hits the ice layer on the door.
“It’s melting!” Kris exclaims.
“That means it’s working!” Yixing calls.
Soon, the ice is little more than a puddle at the foot of the blue door. Yixing smiles triumphantly, stalking over to the door. He opens it, to reveal an oddly dark room with a patterned floor.
“What now?” Kris complains.
The room has a strange pattern etched into the tiling. What looks like a star, traced in red and white, sits at the centre of a square etched in pink. There are yellow circles resting on the lines of the pink square at regular intervals.
“I have no idea,” Yixing responds.
Yixing walks further into the room, noticing the tiling of the floor become lighter in colour. There’s a white snail trail traced in, with odd shapes spiraling around it in what appears to Yixing random colours.
“There are switches!” Kris calls, eyeing the ground carefully.
"There are switches where the yellow circles are.”
Yixing walks over, tracing his finger on the nearest switch on the ground. He lets out a strangled cry as some sort of knife comes up from the ground, catching him on the shoulder. He’s lost a petal.
“Xing?”
“Don’t press the switches down.” Yixing tells him, holding his arm.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” Kris calls. Yixing bites his tongue.
“I’m fine, Kris. Just don’t press the buttons down. There’s something to do with that swirl pattern on the ground over there, but I don’t know what.”
“Hang on, what swirl pattern?” Kris asks.
He walks towards Yixing, examining the younger’s arm. He sighs, following Yixing’s gaze across the room.
“Those patterns, they’re the ones that came out of the box, remember?” But Yixing doesn’t remember. He gasps as he holds his arm in pain. Another petal falls, and he wonders what’s going on, his thoughts clouded. He knows there’s only one explanation.
“Kris… I think it’s poisoned.”
Kris gapes at him, watching as Yixing crumples to the floor, breathing heavily. He scans the room, finding a vase in the corner.
“Xing, give me your rose!” Kris calls, voice raised.
“No!” Yixing replies quickly.
“Figure out this puzzle. Tell me the pattern, and I’ll press the buttons. If I get injured again it doesn’t matter because I’m already poisoned.” Kris shakes his head.
“I can’t let you do that!” he says exasperatedly.
“If I get it wrong…”
“But you won’t,” Yixing tells him pointedly. Kris sighs in defeat.
“Fine… first… the first must be the one to your left,” Kris chokes out, biting his nails. Kris calls out the next button to press in turn, and each Yixing presses is correct, but he still loses petals rapidly. Yixing claws his way to the last button, crawling across the floor. Kris watches him carefully, noting that he’s already lost another three. There’s only one petal left…
“Xing, the vase!” Kris yells.
But Yixing doesn’t hear him. His body begins to spasm; his arms flail about, his legs give way. Yixing’s breathing becomes shallow and raspy, and Kris runs over to him, ripping his rose from his hand.
“Come on, Xing!”
Kris runs across the room, placing the flower in the vase. He watches Yixing carefully as the boy breathes in heavily, up as much air as he can. Relief floods Yixing’s body and he lets out a sigh. His head starts to clear, and he stares up at Kris, who’s towering above him with concern laced eyes.
“Xing?”
Yixing blinks a couple of times, letting his hands wander Kris’ torso, breathing in his scent.
“You saved me…” he whispers.
“Of course I did,” Kris tells him. “You saved me first.”
Yixing takes the words for what they are, but Kris means more than Yixing’s simple act that feels like it happened centuries ago. Yixing has saved him from himself. Kris picks Yixing up, running a hand through the smaller teen’s hair. It’s matted with blood, just like his. Kris’ eyes trail the floor, and he finds a plastic key sitting in the middle of the patterned floor.
“The next key,” he whispers. Yixing nods, picking himself up.
“Let’s go,” he tells Kris.
“Not yet,” Kris responds, taking Yixing in his arms once again.
“Let’s just stay here. Rest.”
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