There once lived a mother and her son.
They've got no family save each other.
But tight bonds did they from, out of the
absence of the barking of the family dog,
the child-like laughters of the little ones,
or the aroma of Dad's cologne.

Despite the circumstances, they were content.
That picture of serendipity was torn apart,
when Mother breathed her last.
Fighting an illness with a smile, just like
any heroine would do. As she struggled to
speak, she reached for a wooden box,
simple yet precious. She passed the box to
her little boy, as he beat the bed, hoping the
sound would go beyond the ceiling to the heavens
above.

"Be brave Jack, and whenever you think of me,
hold this wooden box and never let go, but
don't open the box until you've come of age, ",
Mother whispered before her lips opened no more.
From then on, the little boy carried the box
wherever he went, from the orphanage to the classroom,
for the hole in his soul could never heal. And each time
he sensed the floodgates opening, he clutched the wooden box,
like how he would his mother whenever he was scared.

Time went by, and soon the little boy grew into a fine young man.
Right then, he knew it was time to open the wooden box.
He gingerly held the edges and slowly lifted the delicate lid.

The box was empty.

All this while, the box was meant for the little boy to channel
his negative emotions into. That is why up til this day, we're
told to focus the hatred of our hearts into a ball and let it go.
The box may not be there anymore, but the story behind it
will always be remembered.

So the mother played him a nice 419.