Pandora's Box

This is for the Historical Fiction contest, about a young girl named Pandora who moves to a new state and finds hidden treasures within the attic in boxes.


1. Arrival

            “How long will it be until we arrive ‘home’? This is such a tedious trip.” I groaned, staring out the window at the trees. They were all oak trees, dogwood trees, pine trees, and a maple here and there, but no palm trees. It made me even more upset to see all of the palm trees gone; another thing to miss about being in California.

            “The GPS says we’ll be there in about ten minutes. Great job at surviving the longest car trip of your life, kiddos! We’ll be at our new Virginia home in a little while.” Mom says, turning to look at me and my baby brother Sammy. He’s been sound asleep throughout this day’s driving, the best thing on the planet. Throughout almost one fourth of the time it took to travel all the way across three thousand miles by car, he was screaming and whining, followed by whining and screaming, followed by filled diapers that I had to change in a moving vehicle.

            I started to pack my books and things into the backpack I’d brought along for entertainment. I stopped on one of them, a book my mom had gotten for my friends to write to me in before I left. I couldn’t help but open it and read all of the “I can’t believe you’re moving, Pandora” and the “We’ll be best friends forever, Pandora” notes my Californian friends had written me. Tears filled my eyes at the fact that I’d never see them again, but I blinked them back as quickly as possible so my parents wouldn’t see. If I had to move under my preferences, I would have taken them all with me if I could have and built a school exclusively for us so I wouldn’t have to be “the new kid”.

            Dad starts to drive the car into a suburban neighborhood. The sign reads “Rainbow Road”. I’ll have to try and remember that instead of the usual “Aubrey Street” that I’d always known. Sammy would learn to be a Virginian, however, since his brain hasn’t even fully developed yet. If there’s one thing I can say about how newborns look, it’s that they’re disgusting.  With their red, wrinkly skin, shut eyes, and always-grumpy faces, they look like the paler version of Craisins. Sammy is around seven months old, so he isn’t as wrinkled and gross as before, but he’s still pretty pink in the cheeks and legs. My mother has given birth to a giant albino Craisin.

            “Here we are! The moving van is pulling in, let’s kick back for a while.” Dad says, setting the car in park and leaning his seat back. With me sitting in the middle to keep my brother’s neck safe at sharp turns and entertain him if he became restless, my dad’s head was next to me. Sammy began to kick a little in his sleep, his sign for his feet being cold. I lightly rest my hand on his two feet, and he stops.

            “No, no, David, we have to show them where our things go. Remember?” Mom said, tugging at my father’s sleeve. Dad groaned and sat up, opening his car door and walking around to open Mom’s.


            “Get your brother and your things, please.” Mom tells me. I nod my understanding and let go of my brother. His eyes start to blink open and take in his surroundings. When a child first opens their eyes, they take in everything around them and learn a little about a lot to instantly become an expert. I wonder if he’s going through that moment again. He starts reaching towards me with chubby arms and tiny fingers. I grab my things and get out of the car, closing the door softly as to not make him cry. I speed-walk to his side and unbuckle his seat. The second he’s in my arms, he starts to mess with the beaded strings and Tamagotchi sets from elementary school clipped to the back of my backpack. As long as it isn’t my hair, he’s fine.

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