Pandora's Box, Or So It Goes

          Come children and elders, friends and enemies, lovers and family. Listen to the story that I have to tell.
Once there was a little girl named Pandora. She was human, innocent, kind, angelic, and young. Just barely twelve years of age. To Zeus, the lord of all, she was the most trusted and beloved mortal that he cared about. Perhaps the only mortal he cared anything for. To show his trust and peace with the human world he gave Pandora his most treasured belonging; the box that held all the evils in the whole entire universe. He did not tell this to Pandora, however, because he thought it best that a young child stays with a pure mind. The box was relatively small; small enough to fit in the palm of Pandora's hand. Upon giving Pandora this box he instructed her to not ever open it, to ignore her curiosity.
After all, curiosity did kill the dog. Or was it a cat? Same thing, I suppose. It matters not the animal kind but the fact that it died.
Pandora felt honored and thrilled because she was trusted with such a heavy burden. She accepted the box and hid it in a place that no one would ever think of to look; she didn't want anybody to take away her gift from Zeus. The box was buried deep in the ground beneath the roots of an old oak tree, the tree Pandora would grow to visit one time too many. She visited the tree every other day just to be sure the box was still hidden; it always was. Every time she visited, she grew more and more curious.
On Pandora's thirteenth birthday she visited the tree; like always, the box was still hidden. She unburied the box completely and sat down under the tree. She was wearing her prettiest party dress; it was white with purple bows.
Pandora decided that a small peek at what was inside couldn't hurt. So she unlatched the box and slowly lifted the lid. The box creaked and shook in her hands; she let go of the lid and it flew open. Horrible screeching emanated from it as black shadows climbed out and into the world. The screeching and shadows left as quickly as they came.
Poor Pandora, however, was not spared the cruelty. One of the shadows crept into her mind; it gave Pandora words and pictures of bloodshed and war, rage and hate, murder and rape; the shadow then left her mind and fled. Poor little Pandora stayed under the tree, crying her heart out. She stayed under the tree for days; weeks; months. She eventually starved herself to death. Her body would be left to rot and turn into nothing but bones.

That is the story of Pandora's Box, or so it goes. People add to it, people take things from it, and some people change it completely. But it always has one part that stays the same. Poor Pandora opened the box and was never the same again.