Opened

Nora yawns, pulling the covers off herself. Drowsily she hops down from her bed, feet landing softly on the wooden floor. After messing with her hair, she opens the door to her bedroom and wanders down the hallway, watching with curious eyes the shadows that streak across the floor with every movement of her feet.

She peeks around the corner to the kitchen, seeing that the stove light is on. The clock above the sink says it’s 4:30 in the morning, something which she does not believe. Fall Backwards certainly hasn’t set back her schedule that much, has it?

Ignoring the unusual waking time, she walks over to the cabinet and pulls out a glass, filling it with freshly-bought milk. The girl takes a few careful sips, letting the cool flavor slip down her throat, standing idly in the kitchen. Just as she sets the cup back on the counter, a loud noise comes from the front porch.

She jumps, head flicking towards the window. Something white swirls away from the house, gliding gracefully on four propellers. From what she can make, it’s a drone. But it’s gone before she can see anything more of it.

The redhead inhales slowly, breathing out a quiet “wow.” She instinctively begins to tip-toe to the front door, ignoring the fact that her parents are still asleep. Nora stands on the edge of her feet and looks through the peephole, seeing only the hill that slopes away from her house and nothing more. Perhaps if she squints she can see the drone speeding into the distance, but now it just looks like a star.

Curious, she leans back and swings the door open (it creaks loudly at this), revealing a little box sitting lonesomely on the brick porch. It’s made out of some fancy silver material, as if it must be special. After checking back into the hallway to make sure that no one’s looking, she picks up the box and shuts the door, taking it back into her room.

Nora places the parcel on her bed, staring at it for a moment, and then flicks on her lamp. The room lights up, illuminating the stars painted on the walls and numerous accessories hanging from the ceiling. Colorful decorations are everywhere, accompanied by a rose-pink rug and lavender curtains draping over every window. She looks around at her bright room and then climbs onto the bed, peering at the strange box.

She slowly flips it over. On the underside is a white sticker with lettering scratched out in a black marker. Slightly shocked, she wonders who sent the package, and then feels around the side for an opening to find out what’s inside.

It could be a birthday present. For whom, she doesn’t know, but it still could be.

It could be a candle. The oddly sudden possibility comes to mind of it being a candle.

Nora breathes out a frustrated sigh. This box doesn’t seem to have an opening anywhere. “How am I suppose’ta open this thing?” she asks herself, picking up the box and shaking it to find out what it holds.

No noise.

She blinks, confused. “Maybe it’s empty…” mumbles Nora, searching, again, for an opening. She runs her hands over the sides and finally finds two little hooks on opposite ends of the box. The girl pulls on the hooks the moment she feels them and the box opens from the sides, surprising her.

Inside of the box is a glass jar. Nora blinks her hazel eyes, wondering how the jar didn’t break when it fell to the porch, and wondering why someone anonymous would deliver a jar to her house at 4:30 in the morning. Her wonderings are cut short when she catches sight of what’s inside the jar.

A cloud.

A little gray cloud.

Amazed, she stares. A little gray cloud floats aimlessly in the jar. Suddenly, immediately, she lifts the glass out from the box and sets it in her lap. The cloud inside bounces around and then returns to its original position. There’s some odd sense about it– some inviting, tempting sense– that makes her want to open the jar and let the cloud out.

Nora feels her breath hitch. Just as the doctors told her to, she takes deep breaths, as deep as she can manage, and grips the sheets, trying to calm herself down. It is something she has never been capable of doing, but she tries nonetheless.

A few more seconds pass by. ‘Come on, come on,’ she thinks, focusing all her energy on returning her breathing to normal. For a moment, she thinks that she’s actually done it; for the first time in her life, she’s finally stopped an attack on her own.

Then the pain comes back, gripping her chest, and she stumbles down from the bed and over to her desk, stealing away her inhaler. In only a moment, everything’s over, and she’s shakily breathing in, her inhaler not an inch away from her lips. The doctors told her always to have it in her pocket, or in a bag, or somewhere in immediate reach. Otherwise something bad may happen.

That’s always their wording. “Something bad.” What it could be, only they know.

The jar catches her attention again. As soon as she looks over at it, her breathing slows. Unintentionally, she drops the inhaler, letting it clink to the ground. The small gray cloud has completely captured her attention once more.

A realization comes to her. One that is difficult to struggle against.

She wants to open it.

Nora steps over to her bed, looking, wide-eyed, at the jar. Her hazel eyes glint when they see the small cloud of gray mist dancing around inside. Inhaling deeply, she climbs onto her bed and holds the jar against her chest, leaning back against a pillow.

She has to open it. It’s no longer a choice. It’s a definite decision.

She lifts her hand and reaches forward, slowly beginning to twist the cap off the top. The little metal lid gradually slides away, and she’s left with the little gray cloud stuck inside. Breathing smoother than she ever has before, she stares at the mist, body subtly trembling.

It looks… so…

TZZZT!

In a flickering flash, the lights in her room burn out. The lightbulbs spark with electricity and then the whole room grows dark. Nora, her attention not yet taken away from the cloud, looks down into the jar, removing her hand from the top. The mist inside hovers still, almost as if considering what to do, and then, in the very moment that Nora breathes in, quickly travels out. She instantly finds that it has entered her mouth– then her throat, then her lungs– and all her body feels limp and relaxed.

The whole world goes quiet for a moment as she lies against the wall. Everything is silent, everything is still.

Slowly, gradually, reluctantly, she breathes out. The jar is empty; the gray cloud is gone. All that’s left is this immense feeling of tranquility. No emotion stays inside. Not happiness, nor sadness, nor anger, nor fear. Just… relaxation.

It’s like she’s gone blank. Her eyes, for a glinting second, look a certain bluish-gray. They seem empty. Emotionless. Vacant.

Then the moment passes. She coughs a bit, watching warily as a bit of gray dust spurts from her mouth, and turns her attention back to the jar. Nora looks at it, hoping that the cloud will appear once again and she can breathe it in and feel this sense of calm again, but it’s gone. There’s nothing inside.

She sighs.

And starts to wonder who sent it.

After searching to no avail for a name tag or a label, she shoves the box under her bed. She’s about to rid of the glass jar, too, but she can’t stop staring at it. Wondering what the cloud meant. Wondering what it did to her. Wondering who sent it. Wondering why.

Something starts to form inside of it.

Her mouth drops open ever-so-slightly. A blue shape begins to morph inside of the glass jar. The more she stares, the larger it grows. Larger and larger and larger until she slams the cap back on the top, afraid.

CLANK!

Taking in shaky breaths, she mutters, “If that didn’t wake anyone up, I dunno what will.”

Nora takes one last chance to peer. The shape inside the jar is a bright swirling ball of blue. All of a sudden, it changes color, turns to a soft hazel. It matches her eyes.

She wonders. Again.

Could this jar… capture emotions?

First it held a sense of immense calm. That was the cloud. And as she was wondering, it began to fill up. So now it must hold the emotion of curiosity, since she had been wondering so much about it.

How interesting.

How confusing.

How tiring.

She must realize that it’s 4:45 in the morning, because she takes the jar and pushes it under her bed and then snuggles up under the covers. Falling asleep has never been easier.

It’s 6 o’clock.

Everything goes as usual. She dresses, eats her bowl of cereal, brushes her teeth. Sneaks a chocolate out of the candy jar. Spends a bit of time drawing her favorite characters. Then she’s off to the school bus.

School goes as usual, too.

Though she is less sensitive than usual. More calm. More relaxed. More… blank.

At the end of the day, things seem to go terribly wrong. A failing grade is revealed, followed by an argument with a friend, followed by a classroom fight, followed by a demerit or two.

She’s sent home with a frustrated frown. A mixture of heavy emotions tangle in her stomach. Sadness and anger, fear and mistrust, nausea and exhaustion. She refuses to say much about her day and walks to her room and slams the door.

The lights are still out. Somehow no one has noticed yet.

Nora flops down on her bed, throwing her backpack to the floor. The moment that her body hits the bedsheets, she recalls the jar. The package. The drone. The whole ordeal of the mysterious event in the morning.

She rolls under her bed (for she’s still small enough to fit there) and reaches blindly for the jar. Grasping some cold round object, she brings it up to her face, revealing the shining hazel inside.

Curiosity.

She sighs. She doesn’t want curiosity right now. She wants something else. Maybe happiness. Maybe satisfaction. Just something to rid her of the disgusting soup of emotions inside of her.

Nora stares at the jar for a moment. Still wondering who sent it to her. Do they know her? Do they know about her condition? Do they know that the doctors say she might have to live in the hospital one day? Do they know that she has a hard time calming down? Do they know that she finds it difficult to control her emotions?

Do they know that she loves paper airplanes?

A million questions have already filled her head. The redheaded girl brushes them all away, twisting off the cap. Curiosity stays inside of the jar, almost as if refusing to come out. Then, unexpectedly, slowly, bit by bit, it starts to disappear. Fade. Morph into nothing.

She’s almost scared. Why would curiosity suddenly go away? What reason would it have?

She sighs. Breathes her emotions out into the jar. The air forms into a stark black cloud. It looks like a bat with fierce wings, then a shadow with sharp teeth, then a lonely little flower. It continues to flow into so many different shapes that she can’t even see it all.

Soon, her hands shake. The violent emotions ricochet around inside the cup and she finds it hard to keep a grip. Nora takes hold of the lid and snaps it back on top, sealing the feelings inside forever.

Until she decides to open the jar again, forever.

Dust bunnies stick to her sweater as she crawls out from underneath the mattress, glass cup in-hand. She looks down at the mixture inside and shivers at the thought that that was inside of her. But now that she has this jar, any amalgamation of unhappy feelings can be left behind, only to dissipate later. Even then, she can still watch it morph into different shapes.

A knock on her door. “Nora?” asks her little sister in her itty voice, “Are you OK?”

She wonders what to do. Despite the fact that her angry feelings are gone, now contained in this mysterious vase, she still has to explain what happened in her day that made her march loudly into her room. And she has to explain why she is suddenly so relaxed instead.

Another knock. “Noraaa?”

Nora sighs. She rolls the jar back under her bed and stands.

Weeks have passed.

Her curiosity about who sent the jar has been a recurring thought. Nora is constantly emitting her emotions and watching them morph and disappear. Then constantly receiving emotions back, ones such as happiness and satisfaction and warmth. Whenever she is crying, she lets her feelings fall, and in return is gifted with relaxation. Whenever she is angry, she lets her feelings fall, and in return is gifted with tranquility.

This emotion-capturing jar– which she has labeled the Ennen jar– has changed the entire course of her life. It has helped her with her condition, filling her lungs with a gray mist that soothes her whole body. It has helped her with her friendships, giving her reasonable thoughts in any unwelcome situation. It has just helped her.

It’s unexplainable. And yet she wants an explanation. She wants to know who sent it to her.

But for months, she has to deal with not knowing.

Then, one chilly day, a little paper slip is delivered on her doorstep. At 4:30 a.m., just like the time before. And Nora wakes up just at that time, pours herself a glass of milk, and sees the small paper sitting on the porch.

Interested, she slurps down the rest of her milk and wanders toward the door, opening it, lifting the paper off the ground.

It’s an envelope, she sees with wide hazel eyes. It’s addressed to her, Nora Felkins. Written in neat cursive handwriting is her name and address on the front.

Quietly, she shuts the door, heading back to her room. Never taking her eyes off the wording. Never taking her eyes off the careful penmanship of her name, as if whoever wrote this cared about her in a way that no other could understand.

Then she looks in the left corner. The usual TO note is attached. But right underneath of that is FROM.

She stops, mid-step, in the center of the hallway, unable to look away from the name.

DOCTOR REMBEVON,

MAZE SCIENCE CENTER

Her breath exits her lungs as soon as she sees the address. Maze Science Center. Research there had been going on for years and years and years. Before it was investigated back in November of the past year for running secret experiments on oblivious individuals.

She runs to her room, turns on the lights, rummages through her drawers, and pulls out a sheet of paper and a pencil. Nora copies the address onto a blank envelope on her desk, writing as fine as she can, printing in a dark graphite ink. Then she recalls her own address and adds it in the left corner.

She pauses to think for a moment.

Why is she doing this– sending a letter to a laboratory under investigation?

Nora blinks, confused at her sudden reaction, and reaches over and opens the letter, enjoying the little crinkling sound of the paper as she lifts it away from the envelope. It reads, in careful handwriting,

Hello, Nora.

Are you enjoying JARE-09274? I have worked on it for years to solve your problem.

I apologize for sending the package so early in the morning. I meant for 4:30 p.m., but it must have mixed up the time.

Has JARE-09274 been treating you nicely? I hope so. I made it for your condition specifically so that I might release it to the world if it works. Is it working? I have tried unsuccessfully to test it on myself, but every time I try, it makes my mind go completely blank. JARE-09274 is quite the breathable sedative for emotions.

I apologize also for subjecting you to tests so early in your life, especially because of your obliviousness. Forgive me, if you can. I would like it if you wrote back to me.

Sincerely,

Dr. Rembevon

She stares in disbelief. All along, she was being subjected to tests? The Ennen jar has been JARE-09274 all this time?

Not thinking any more, she writes back, scribbling her words on the page. Spilling out her thoughts. Spewing out the words. Writing of her thanks, of her surprise, of her thanks again, of her shock, of her amazement, of her loving of the Ennen jar, of how it’s alright that it was delivered at 4:30 in the morning, of her thanks again. Writing of everything that a 10-year-old girl could think of to portray her gratefulness.

Then she licks the envelope shut and tip-toes out of the house to slip it in the mailbox. And of course returns to bed.

Days later, the envelope comes back to her, a note attached.

ADDRESS DOES NOT EXIST. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.

OR MAYBE DR. REMBEVON NEVER EXISTED IN THE FIRST PLACE.