It was a tightly shut box; the dusty tape binding its upper flaps stubborn, taut. It was not huge; as it was to be placed in the hollow of his chest. Its contents, mysterious, unknown, rattled slightly while being placed; the sound almost blasphemous in the surrounding emptiness.
Not surprisingly, the box was a snug fit; it seemed as if it had been especially crafted to ford the void in his chest.
What did it hold? What was its story?
Once upon a time, it was an iota of ill-will in the depths of his heart; a meager existence, ignored, not worthy of any attention.
Soon it adopted the role of a seemingly unimportant domino that sets off an entire cascade of dominoes tumbling down – slowly, and slowly, it gnawed upon the flesh, feasting on it, living off it.
Something that had been anything but significant did not take long to became monstrous: an upwelling of resentment and hatred, determined to destroy everything that did not appease its twisted wishes.
Oh, but it was sly. The iota. That is why it boxed itself.
And, so as ill-will grew, the tension increased and increased, until the time came, when its threshold was approached.
The wave of resentment blasted out of the box, terrifying, vindictive.
Rage. Madness. Carnage.