I found it on the threshold of the door of the shack, a small box wrapped in colorful paper, a christmas present. I was intrigued, and cautious no one gives me a present; the only time I am given anything is when I am owed, and even then I make sure they do it.

But in front of me on the threshold of the door was a bright pretty box, which contrasted to the dark, ugly world in which I lived. The paper was actually paper, not the thick rough parchment of most of the tombs I read. Thin easy to rip, purposefully made to do so even, bound with a piece of butchers string braided with fine copper threads. There was a softness to the whole set up,

My first instinct was to smash it, and be done with it, but if someone placed it on my threshold for a reason. Likely someone who mistook something I did as heroic, someone who has not been introduced to the harsher realities of the world. If this someone was watching from an inconspicuous place they would be introduced to said realities in a very harsh way.

I’m an asshole, but I’m not that big of an asshole, and I likely could tank whatever trap might have been.

There were apparently two different rituals to open such things. One was delicate, pull the string, and remove the paper leaving it intact letting the anticipation build. The other way is to violently skin the thing with all the excited zeal of a war dog tearing into a deer. I chose the former, I’m not one for pointless violence after all, also I had no idea what I was supposed to do with the paper, and string after I opened the damn thing.

After pulling the bow open I discovered a box of carved oak hollowed, with a spring loaded drum, and harp inside activated by a key on the other side, or in other words a music box. I was well crafted. I turned the key, and tightened the spring,

The refrain that raing out was one of peace, hope, and joy, and honestly it brought an ach to me. I have dealt with pain, I’ve had my arm violently ripped off, had my flesh cut open, bones broken, skin burned, and am able to push forward. I have had my mind invaded, and turned into something’s play thing, and was able to overcome it. But this ach had me sitting on the floor of my hut.

The song ended, and I tightened the spring, and listened to the song again, and the pain never calloused. The same bright spots, the same searing pain.

In my life I have survived through skill, tenacity, and adrenaline. I’ve seen hope dashed, and people shattered by it, peace is a joke, and joy is the stuff of children; in all honesty it is a horrible world devoid of such things.

Nevertheless, the music playing opened a part of me that I had closed off for my own survival. I felt joyful, and melancholy, angry, and conflicted, while hopeful. These were not forign emotions to me but one’s that I didn’t want to feel.

This day though something decided that I should feel these so I spent the entire day, evening, and night playing the music box, and feeling. Maybe I wept, maybe I contemplated things that I’d rather see buried.

The last thing I remember from this gift was falling asleep, and having a good night’s rest. No nightmares, no worry.

When I woke the next morning did my heart grow three sizes bigger? No. Did I decide that I would make amends,and change my ways? Why should I?

Tomorrow I shall move on, but for now I will rest.