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Tristram Cary
Lontoo
Saksa
Hitler

Siinähän meni kauan.

VASTAA OMAN NIMESI ALKUKIRJAIMELLA.
Eli jos nimesi on Hemuli, keksi sanat H-kirjaimella.
Haasta sitten neljä kaveria tekemään sama.

Olen: Jaakko
Haluan: Juustoa
Minulla on: Jesaria
Pelkään: Jugi-Stylea
Vihaan: Jurria
Kuuntelen: Juuret (Antti Tuisku <3)
Pohdin: Jupiterin asentoa
Rakastan: Juustoa, vuohen-sellaista
Minä olen aina: Juhlallinen
Minä en ole: Jedi :(
Laulan: Juomalauluja
Itken: Jupisten
En ole aina: Juusto, Aura-sellainen

Stranger: u a fan of 9/11?
Stranger: in pakistan we praise them
You: No, I'm a fan of salami pizza

Before I could even surmise what had happened, the faceless figures were dragging me through a hallway against my will.

Technically the hallway was brightly lit, but there was a darkness blurring my vision. The noise of footsteps echoed loudly but to me the sounds were distant and muffled.

I was still bleeding.

I knew where these faceless figures were taking me, but I didn't know why. Each and every one of them were individual beings. They were not part of each other and I was not a part of them.

So why did they make a decision to help me? Shouldn't they be helping themselves?

I was too tired to smile, but it was actually remotely amusing, that only a month ago the answers to these questions would have been clear and obvious to me.

That was before I met the man with the box.

He was an old man; one who'd had immense life experience, which was evident to a curiously odd extent from very simple things; the lightness of his steps, the worn clothes he was wearing and the little crooked smile on his face.

He was holding the box. When asked about its contents, he would merely reply ”This box is full of madness”. It was more than enough to engage my curiosity.

Sure of myself, I had asked if I could see what's inside the box. The man had replied with a careful and serious tone: ”It is your decision to make”.

And there was something about the tone that had made me hesitate for a split second. But then I realised that there was nothing the box contained that could in any profound manner change who I was.

After all, I was the result of every choice I've made in my life.

There was nothing to be afraid of.

I couldn't have been more mistaken.

And every day after having opened the box, the only thing I had hoped for was to have God drop a boulder on my head in order to make me forget what I had seen.

The faceless figures were talking to a nurse. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I saw a glimpse of concern on the nurse's face. She nodded to something one of the figures said and then walked away.

I realised how far this had went and I was scared. I was angry. I was angry at the man with the box; How was it ”my decision to make” to look inside the box? It was a mere coincidence I had ran into the man. Only if I had taken a turn elsewhere at some point prior to the encounter, I could have avoided it altogether.

Before I could realise what had happened, I was lying on a hospital bed. I couldn't see anything from the dark blur that filled the room and couldn't hear anything through the echoing sound of my thoughts.

I hadn't jumped to hurt or to kill myself . I'd jumped because it didn't make sense. And what didn't make sense was the only thing that had made sense.

Because of the Box of Madness.

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Why did I open the Box of Madness?