The Human Race

For how many centuries have I been condemned to guard this golden box? The surrounding trees keep changing color, in line with the contents in the box. The glass pole has a gift trapped inside, accessible only to the Perfect Human Being. Imperfect Gods, Attractive AntiGods, Scheming Sinners and Inimitable Devils have all visited this place, and deposited their deeds inside this box.

It is a kind of bank account, which holds the collective Sin and Goodness of Humanity. Goodness is credited, Sin is debited. And the gift trapped inside, writhes and struggles every Christmas, waiting to be released, wanting to meet its rightful owner. Instead, the gift has been stuck with me, an owl-faced machine, with blinking lights for an eye and nose. I am not remotely human, forget being perfect. And yet, I understand humanity more than anybody else.

We are both living out a curse. We are both doomed. The bank account never seems to have a credit balance. The golden box remains tightly packed with Karma ribbons.

Will someone rescue us ? Will Humanity ever wake up from its stupor, and claim the Christmas present?

Written for Thursday Photo Prompt #writephoto Christmas Present