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The Life and Death of Theodore Mims

Theodore finds a package that changes his life forever.

By Blake AnglinPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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The Life and Death of Theodore Mims
Photo by Kari Shea on Unsplash

The morning began like any other, boring and dull, just like Theodore himself. His routine was set in stone. He awoke to the same monotone beeping of his alarm clock, brushed his teeth to the same two-minute timer, and ate the same breakfast (One fried egg and two pieces of toast, one with butter and one with mixed fruit jelly.).

Theodore completed this daily routine with no deviations, an unexceptional man preparing for another day of his banal existence. Theodore worked at MegaCorp, performing data entry. The work was mindless and repetitive, but Theodore didn’t mind it. He had worked the same job for almost twenty years and would be perfectly content with twenty more.

He did enjoy his time before work though. He took a minute to pet his beloved cat Oliver, and opened the door to get his newspaper, an important part of the morning ritual. It was here, however, that Theodore’s day took a drastic and quite unexpected turn.

Outside of his door sat a small unassuming box, wrapped in plain brown paper. This box had not been there the night before, and it was too early to have been delivered today. There was no note or information on the box, not even a label. It was just…there.

Theodore picked the box up; it was surprisingly heavy for such a small package. He brought it inside and placed it on the kitchen table. He was not expecting any packages and did not have the foggiest idea about what it could be.

Theodore looked at the box suspiciously. What should he do? He was hesitant, but his curiosity got the better of him and he decided then and there to open it and see what was inside the mysterious package, not knowing it would change his life forever.

“Umm, no, he most certainly did not”, Theodore said, though there was no one else in the room. “I’m not opening this, that’s crazy.”

Time seemed to stand still. Theodore wanted to go about his day, but he knew the siren song of the box could not be ignored for long. Sure, he could go through the motions of his morning routine, try and blindly continue the day, but he knew eventually he would have to open it.

“No, no I don’t,” Theodore said, again to just himself and nobody else. “I’m going to go to work, and I’m going to dump it in the trash on my way out.”

Theodore was being very difficult indeed. He packed his lunch (the usual boring combination of a turkey sandwich with a bag of chips), got dressed and tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge! There was no apparent reason for this, it was if the door itself was simply refusing to open.

“You can’t keep me here,” Theodore said. “And screw you, just because I have a routine doesn’t mean I’m boring. A boring person would open the package, like a good little boy, but I’m not going to do it.”

Theodore waited in vain for something (anything!) that would allow him to continue his day, for what felt like weeks he waited, but it was as if the universe itself had simply stopped. Like some unseen force had simply paused the world, waiting for him to open the mysterious package.

“It’s you, you’re doing this!” Theodore protested to the void. “Why would I open a mysterious ominous box you’ve already said will ‘change my life forever’? I’ve seen some of your work, frankly things didn’t turn out well for your other protagonists. And you’ve been rude from the start of this one.”

Sadly, his lamentations were in vain, and the void gave no response, no indication it would relent. No, it seemed Theodore truly had no choice but to open the mysterious package and see what would happen.

“This is sick,” Theodore said. “You’ve given me a petty and small existence, totally smeared it and are now making me open some stupid mysterious box, that will I’m sure set off some awful chain of events that leaves me far worse off than when I started.”

Thedore was angry now, his voice rising as he fruitlessly debated the merits of opening the box, an inevitability he was still fighting against. Surely, he did not realize how ridiculous he looked, for if he did, he would almost certainly stop immediately.

Theodore sighed and hung his head, perhaps in embarrassment, perhaps in shame, but most likely because he knew that he was beaten. The box must be opened. The story demands it.

“You know what the worst part is?” Theodore asked. “This is lose/lose for me. If I open the box, no matter if it is something good or something bad, I can’t win. Sure, maybe, I dunno, this leads to a windfall of cash, or a love connection, or something with an otherwise happy ending. We both know that isn’t going to be the case, but hey, a guy can dream.

“But even then, the story ends. Even a hopeful ending is an ending for someone like me. There are no sequels, no movie adaptations for Theodore and his stupid box. Just…. nothingness.”

What Theodore failed to consider is that, for us, nothing ever ends, not really. The words run out, the story runs it course, but it’s just more thread on an endless tapestry. At least Theodore could be offered a definitive end. We have nothing but uncertainty awaiting us. Theodore could get an ending. If existence is pain, isn’t nothingness preferable?

Theodore was too simple to understand such questions of course, and the fact was he could never really contribute much to the conversation anyway. He was, at best, a mirror, capable of reflecting back some unseen truth, but incapable of producing one of his own. Is that the kind of existence he really wanted for himself anyway?

From the table, the mysterious box beckoned. Theodore picked it up, turning it this way and that, as if studying some remarkable discovery. It seemed much lighter than he initially remembered. Had it been minutes or weeks since he first found it?

After a deep breath, Theodore slowly began unwrapping the package. What he found would change his life forever, you know the drill. I’ll let you decide if it’s for better or worse though, I can do that much for him. Perhaps you have some sympathy for him, I do not. Oh, and don’t forget about Oliver, please. Cats, even those mentioned only once, need an ending too.

Short Story
1

About the Creator

Blake Anglin

"Had to be me. Someone else might have gotten it wrong."

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