[ WP ] Every time you remember something , part of it fades until you forget it completely .

The box looked simple enough – smooth dark wood with small bronze hinges. It was about the size of a shoe box. On the top of the box somebody had written in black sharpie, *Pandora ’ s Box*. Was that my hand writing? I couldn ’ t remember. 
 
 I traced my finger over its edges. It felt familiar, as if my hands remembered the shape and the feel of the box while my mind did not. What a strange little thing. According to the note on my fridge, this box had the power to erase memories. 
 
 *Put a symbol of something you want to forget inside the box*, the note had read. *Open the box each day and examine the contents. Over time, you will forget the memories attached to these items. Discard any items you no longer recognize*. I think the note had been written by me, but I couldn ’ t recall when I had written it. There were a lot of things I was having trouble recalling, and I suppose this box was the reason. 
 
 I sighed, took a sip of my whiskey, and opened the box. The inside of the box was cluttered with a large stack of pictures and an assortment of trinkets. There was a strong scent of something minty, though I couldn ’ t exactly place the smell. I don ’ t think I ’ d ever smelled anything quite like it before. 
 
 I picked up the first picture. It was an old picture of a middle-aged man with a huge head of hair wearing a tight leather jacket. He looked like he belonged in Motley Crue. He looked familiar, and after a little thought I was able to place him. Uncle Charles, from my mom ’ s side of the family. I couldn ’ t remember much more about him than his name. We ’ d never been close. Why was he in this box? 
 
 I picked up the next picture. It was a group photo. I was in the picture, but I didn ’ t recognize any of the other faces. Odd. Per the instructions of the note I ’ d left myself, I set the picture aside. I suppose whatever memory I ’ d been trying to lose with that picture was now gone. Mission accomplished. 
 
 I fished through some of the trinkets. There was a chain with a pair of dog tags attached. I picked them up and looked at the name. It was my name. I focused, trying to remember. I had vague memories of wearing a uniform. I remembered being on a ship. That was about all I could muster. I put the dog tags back. 
 
 Next, I pulled out a ring. It was a plain silver band with a black pattern around it. I inspected it for a moment and then put it on. It fit perfectly. I felt sick. I pulled the ring off, dropped it in the box, and shut it. That was enough for one day. 
 
 -- 
 
 The box looked simple enough. Somebody had scrawled *Pandora ’ s Box* on top in black sharpie. I took a sip of whiskey and opened the box. 
 
 The inside of the box smelled minty, though I couldn ’ t place the exact smell. I don ’ t think I ’ d ever smelled anything quite like it before. I picked up the first picture in the box. It was of a middle-aged man with a huge head of hair wearing a tight leather jacket. He looked like he belonged in, I don ’ t know, one of those 80 ’ s hair metal bands or something. I didn ’ t recognize the man. I set the picture aside. 
 
 The next picture was of a woman in a wedding dress. I took another sip of whiskey. Her name was Annie. She had been my wife, for a little while at least. I remember the way she smelled – like peaches – and I remembered the way she laughed and I remembered the way her cheeks looked when she smiled. I tried to remember how first we ’ d met, but I came up empty. 
 
 The next picture was of me and Annie with our arms around each other, standing on a beach and smiling at the camera. This was from our honeymoon, I think. I remembered sitting out by the sea watching the sunset in the most cliché way imaginable. I remembered the sound of the waves and the peace and calm I had felt. It had been perfect. 
 
 My drink was empty. Looks like that was it for today. 
 
 -- 
 
 The box looked simple enough. The words *Pandora ’ s Box* had been written on top in black marker. I took another swig of whiskey from the bottle and opened the box. 
 
 There was a small stack of pictures inside, some dog tags, and a ring. The inside of the box smelled minty, though there was a hint of something else. I ’ d never smelled anything like it before. 
 
 I pulled out the dog tags. My name was on them. It was strange, since I ’ d never been in the military. Was it some novelty I ’ d won at a fair or something? I couldn ’ t remember. I set them aside. 
 
 There was a picture of a woman in a wedding dress. Her name was – I thought about it for a moment as I took another long drink of whiskey. Anna. That was it. Or Anne. Something like that. She ’ d been my wife once. Things had gone bad, I think, although I couldn ’ t remember the details. Had she left me? Had she cheated on me? Had she died? I couldn ’ t remember. Apparently that memory was all used up. 
 
 The next picture was of the two of us on a beach. I didn ’ t recognize the beach. We looked happy. I couldn ’ t remember how it felt to be happy like that. Another drink. 
 
 There was a picture of her topless, trying to cover herself and looking angrily at the camera. There was one of her and a bunch of other people in Halloween costumes. She was dressed as Ronald McDonald. There was one of the two of us asleep on a couch at some party. Her head rested on my shoulder. I didn ’ t remember any of this. The bottle of whiskey was empty. 
 
 -- 
 
 The box looked simple enough. I opened it and was greeted by an odd scent that I ’ d never smelled before. The box was empty. 

