Her whole life Pandora Rosier failed.
Since she was a child, success was a gift that she was only ever fated to watch from afar. As she began to grow, it only became worse. It was like a curse that twisted itself around her, getting tighter the more her life progressed. She did try to fight it, tried to play every Instrument available to her, tried every form of art that she was passionate about but it only ever led to disappointment. The only thing she was good at was being pretty. It was the first thing people noticed when they met her. Flawless skin, big blue eyes, bright hair and a beautiful smile. It was her looks that drew people in, made them want to be around her, until she inevitably messed up and drove them all away.
She supposed that she was doomed from the moment she set foot on this earth. Some may call her superstitious but she believes that her name was a prophecy of how her life would look like.
She drew this conclusion after stealing a book from her brother Felix. She always took great interest in reading and enjoyed it ,even though it took her longer to get through a book than most of the people her age, since the words and letters seemed to dance around the page, not caring about whether or not she wanted to grasp their meaning.
The book she took was about Greek mythology. She was excited to read it and even more when she saw her name written on one of the pages. The story was about the god Zeus trying to punish humanity after they received the gift of fire. He instructed Hephaestus to mold the first ever woman. She was described as a beautiful evil, whose descendants would torment the world forever. Athena herself dresses her in a beautiful gown with lots of enchanting adornments. Among others a captivating ornate crown of silver.
Pandora opened a jar containing all the world's evil, unleashing them onto humanity and dooming them by doing so.
Her brothers assured her that it is nothing more but a mere theodicy, a way to explain the unexplainable, but Pandora knew that she was destined to find this story, for that it is her future. Her failures were not caused by her own hands but they were unalterable. No matter how hard she would try, she would never be more than a pretty face.
Most of her childhood was spent hiding from the wrath of those around her, after she messed up something yet again. Her parents and teachers thought she did it to spite them, and treated her as such.
The only people who ever truly loved her were her brothers. They were the ones putting her back together every time she fell apart, after another failed attempt to win someone else's love, no matter if it was their parents, the neighbors daughter or one of the stray cats loitering in the alleys below. She would eternally be grateful for them and as she now sat in the moonlight filled attic, in which she liked to retreat to when she wanted to make sure she would be alone, their names were the only ones roaming her mind as she ripped an empty page from a nearby lying notebook.
Placing the quill on the parchment she thought about what to write to them. What words were important enough to tell them? She should explain. She should reassure them that she is happy with her decision. And so she began to write the probably most important words of her life hoping that the boys would forgive her for leaving.
“You should know that this decision was not made light hearted.
Staying in this place will kill me
But I have nowhere to go.
So I should commit the inevitable before fate gets to me first
While I still have control over the one thing that I am good at.
You shall not shed tears
For that I live a happy life somewhere else
Somewhere I have never been to
And never will, not in this lifetime
Your presence allowed me, the few happy moments, that life gave me
And once the darkness consumes
And lures my ghost away
I shall wait to find the reflection of your soul once more.”
Neatly folding the page and laying it next to her, she picked up the dagger she stole from the kitchens, her hands unsettling still. She always knew this moment would come sooner than later, never intended to go naturally, when she would be old and wrinkled. She wanted to stay delightful looking forever even if that meant that her captivating beauty would be worn by a corpse. She was willing to do whatever it takes to be lovely forever, so that she could be loved. Strands of white hair fell into her face as she looked up to the moon.
Thoughts of the only friends she ever had crept into her mind, thoughts of her brothers. Would they cry for her? Would they understand her reasoning? Pandora hoped they would. Her grip on the dagger tightened and she brought it to her throat, ready to slit her porcelain skin. The weapon was about to sink in, when she halted. A cut like that would be grotesque looking and neither did she have a wish for her body to be hideous and deterrent, nor did she want to risk too much blood staining her silk-like hair.
So instead she placed the dagger over her heart and sunk it in before she could change her mind.
The next seconds felt like minutes. Time slowed to a maximum and she felt weirdly free for the first moment. It was a short one before the pain arrived, but she welcomed the feeling and leaned back her head looking at the moon one final time before she closed her eyes and started to sink to the floor.
She let go of herself completely, wanting nothing more than to indulge and savor the moment.
And as she let out one final breath, like the flame of a candle dancing her last dance around the wick, she realized two significant things.
One, continuing life is like trying to catch the water that drips from your hands.
No matter how hard you try ,eventuell it will slip through your fingers, making your ears bleed with every drop that falls. Each quiet thud that it makes when it hits the ground, cracks your heart more open.
Lost forever, with no way to be returned.
And two, dying is an art like everything else, a way of expressing yourself. Different to others only by one humble aspect.
This art was finally one in which she succeeded.