Boxes
Title: Boxes
Summary: Imagine a sort of box. Of everything you want and had.
Notes: My take on where Ben got the idea of the box. And where the innocence the island takes from people goes.
Boxes
He looks at me, almost angry. I don't know what to tell him. How to tell him. He's old enough now, I suppose. Old enough to see what has happened to him. I can't tell him everything. Jacob won't allow it. But on my own, for my own sanity and conscience, I can tell him. So I do.
And this is why he is angry.
"Where does it all go?"
"Where does what go?"
"The innocence." I look at the wet leaves in the grown, watch the patterns of white mold that snake along them. "It has to go somewhere."
"Imagine," I say quietly, "a box." He grows silent and looks at me. "And in this box, there are many things. The things you want. The thing you'll have. The things you used to have. They all live in this box." He nods. "Now pretend the box is the island." At this, he furrows his brow and concentrates on a point far past my head, thinking. I'm afraid I've confused him, but then he nods.
"A box."
"Yes."
"Not a real box."
"No."
"But just...a sort of box. Not really there..or anywhere." I nod. "I understand." And even though he lies. Constantly. Impulsively. Naturally. I believe him.
He only does these things because of the box.
Summary: Imagine a sort of box. Of everything you want and had.
Notes: My take on where Ben got the idea of the box. And where the innocence the island takes from people goes.
Boxes
He looks at me, almost angry. I don't know what to tell him. How to tell him. He's old enough now, I suppose. Old enough to see what has happened to him. I can't tell him everything. Jacob won't allow it. But on my own, for my own sanity and conscience, I can tell him. So I do.
And this is why he is angry.
"Where does it all go?"
"Where does what go?"
"The innocence." I look at the wet leaves in the grown, watch the patterns of white mold that snake along them. "It has to go somewhere."
"Imagine," I say quietly, "a box." He grows silent and looks at me. "And in this box, there are many things. The things you want. The thing you'll have. The things you used to have. They all live in this box." He nods. "Now pretend the box is the island." At this, he furrows his brow and concentrates on a point far past my head, thinking. I'm afraid I've confused him, but then he nods.
"A box."
"Yes."
"Not a real box."
"No."
"But just...a sort of box. Not really there..or anywhere." I nod. "I understand." And even though he lies. Constantly. Impulsively. Naturally. I believe him.
He only does these things because of the box.