Cup o' Death

Once there was a house. It was the finest house on the street, with a bright red mailbox, a very big yard, and many windows. The house was owned by a man. The man it’s said, was very important, but very peculiar. People say he could make anything, or maybe it was that he could change anything, maybe it was both. What everyone knew about him for certain is that he could not take something away from someone unless it was given to him. He also had four sons.
One day, the four boys were playing, as they are often want to do, and became very thirsty. Agreeing that their game would wait, they went to the kitchen. Four cups were on the table for them, each filled with clear water, put there by their father.
“What’s that?” One of them asked, pointing to a large drum container on the counter.
Curious, the four boys investigated the drum. On the front was a large skull and crossbones, with a bold warning, DANGER POISON. The four boys knew at once what this was, for their father had warned them to stay away from it. That even the smallest bit would kill them.
At first, the four boys fled across the kitchen, trying to stay as far from the drum as they could. But, seeing no harm come to them, and the excitement of the drum’s presence wearing off, they stepped closer. Seeing no harm still, and burning with curiosity, they drew close until they were at the counter. The four encouraged each other, as they went.
“What’s the harm in just looking?”
“I’m sure other people get even closer than we are.”
“We know what we’re doing.”
“We’ll just have a small peek.”
Before long, the four boys were at the counter, staring at the skull and crossbones. It wasn’t long before they became bored.
“Why does the counter have to be so tall?”
“It’s really unfair that we’re expected to stay so far away.”
“Nothing bad has happened yet. If we get something to stand on, we can always climb back down.”
“Let’s do that. I can’t get a good look.”
Finding a chair, the four boys climbed on the counter. A fearful excitement made them shiver. They could now touch the tub, turn it, read the back of the label. But soon, the excitement wore off again. They were now so close to the tub, but it was somehow less exciting as that first moment they saw it. Feeling bold, one of them tugged at the lid.
“Do you guys think we should take this off?”
“Yeah, and we’ll keep it nearby. That way we’ll just put it back on if we have to.”
“It’ll just be for a second. Nothing can go too wrong in just a second.”
“Hurry! I want to see inside.”
Opening the lid, the boys saw the tub filled with small black pellets. Their eyes widened as they saw them, it was as if the light itself was drawn into the dark beads. A smell rose from the tub as the boys looked inside. At first, their stomachs churned and their throats caught, but none of them closed the tub. None of them wanted to.
“What if,” the question rose between them, “What if it’s not that bad?”
The question hung in the air, making them wonder. After a little while, none of them were sure who had even asked. All they could think of were the small black pellets.
“Why would we even want to try it? So stupid.”
“I bet we would just cough them up.”
“Even if we put them in our mouths, we wouldn’t swallow them.”
“They don’t look that appealing. It probably tastes terrible.”
Despite the four of them agreeing how revolting the thought was, each of them still stared inside the tub, and none of them looked for the lid.
“What would Dad think?” Again, the question seemed to rise from nowhere, and for the briefest moment it gave them pause.
“Didn’t he warn us to stay away from this?”
“He would probably put us in time out, or ground us.”
“He usually has a reason for the things he does, it would be bad to mess up his plans.”
“He wouldn’t want to see us get hurt.”
As they discussed the will of their father, they could not help but stare into the tub. To smell the sickly scent that was somehow growing sweet, at least, they could imagine that it was sweet. Remembering how thirsty they were, they climbed off the counter, made their way to their glasses. After looking at their cups with a scowl, they couldn’t help but long for the excitement, the mysterious taste, of the pellets on the counter.
“It isn’t fair, how come we can’t try it? Just a little?”
“I bet people down the street are eating these all the time.”
“We’re just being told what to do, like we can’t decide for ourselves.”
“If this was really so bad, Dad would’ve hidden them out of sight.”
Nodding to one another, they agreed that no one should stop them. They should try it for themselves.
The first one carefully took one pellet from the tub with a frown. “What if they really are bad? I know! I’ll put good things in it too, like vitamins and electrolytes. All the things Dad says we should do” He ran around the kitchen, busily filling his glass with good things. Once satisfied, he dropped his pellet in and the water turned black.
“I don’t know,” said his brother, “Sounds like more work then its worth.” He then grabbed a pellet and tore it in half. “I’ll just have a little. It’s not as bad that way, and it’s closer to what Dad told us.” He dropped his half-pellet into his cup and again the glass turned black.
“Both of you are chicken!” Cried the third brother. “If a little is good, then a lot must be better,” he said, taking a handful of pellets and quickly dropping them in his glass. Again, the glass turned black.
The fourth brother looked at the tub with a frown. “I don’t want to get in trouble, or upset Dad.” He held the tub open over his glass and shook it. He was not looking at it when any of the pellets fell in, and so did not see his glass turn black. “There. I may have some, I may not have any. Who knows?”
The four brothers stood beside each other, ready to drink, but before they could, they began to look at one another’s glasses. Each of them began to sneer at the other.
“You really ought to put in good stuff too,” said the first brother, “It’s better for you.”
“Mine is just fine. In fact, I’m even better than all of you for having less,” said the second brother.
“None of you are doing it right,” said the third brother. “If you’re going to taste it, why not taste as much of it as you can? That way, you get to really enjoy it.”
The fourth brother kept his eyes on his brothers’ glasses, but was very careful not to look at his own. “I don’t know what you are all talking about. My cup is fine. It’s all of you who are going to pay for what you’re doing.”
As they began to argue with one another about whose glass was best, their father came into the kitchen. They fell silent as he came in. Seeing the tub open on the counter, and each of the boys glasses black, a sad look came onto his face.
“Boys, what are you doing? Didn’t I tell you to stay away from that? That it would kill you? I’ll be very sad if anything happened to you.” Approaching them slowly, as if he knew that only a gentle approach would save his sons, he held out his hand. “Give it to me, I’ll make your cups clean again. Full of life, instead of death.”
The four boys looked at each other, each of them felt guilty, but thought that maybe they could convince their dad that they were right in what they were doing.
The first spoke up. “Can’t I have a little and still be okay? I took care of it by myself. I put in lots of good things, so that makes up for it.”
Their father shook his head. “Don’t you remember what I told you? There is nothing you can put into the cup that will take death out. And there is nothing you can put in that would ever make up the difference.”
“He should have been like me,” said the second brother, who held up his glass. “I almost completely did what you said. Mine only has a littlest, tiniest bit. I basically did what you told us to do.”
“You’re wrong,” their father spoke softly. “Your cup is full. Full of death. Just as much as your brother’s. It doesn’t matter how little you put in, death is just as close to you as it is to them.”
The third brother spoke next. “Well, I don’t care!” He held up his cup triumphantly. “I put the most in, so I’ll get to taste it the best. You just want us to drink boring water, but you can’t boss me around.”
Giving a sad sigh, their father looked him in the eye. “Are my instructions really so bad? Do you think I want to keep pleasure from you so much? No, son. My commands are to keep you safe, to keep death from ruling you. There is sweetness in that cup, a moment’s pleasure, but no sweetness will be worth what you will pay.”
At this the fourth one stepped forward. “I won’t have to pay it, will I Dad?” He held his cup up, ever so carefully so he could not see it. “The last I saw my cup, it was clear. Maybe something happened to it, but it’s probably fine.”
Their father put a hand on his, in hopes of drawing his son’s eyes to the cup. “You say you do not know, and since you do not know, you will not be harmed like your brothers. Don’t you know that even if you were not looking when the pellets fell in, that would’t have kept them out. Worst still, you are holding the evidence. All you need to do to see your peril is to look at your glass; water does not turn black on its own. Death does not happen on its own. You can see the death you have put into it, even if you were blind to seeing it happen.”
He looked at all four boys with a final plea. “Boys, do not drink from the cups you hold. You will die. I want to be with you, but the living cannot live with the dead, just as much as the dead cannot die with the living. I will have to make a new place for you to go, a place far from me. I cannot take your cups away from you, but I can make them right again. Then, you can stay with me.”
The sons pondered the words of their father. Three of the sons, with fierce determination, drank from their cups. The brother who hesitated looked at the sadness on his father’s face, and considered the tub of tempting poisonous pellets. How they seemed unfathomably dark. Darker than the darkest of nights, and even more dangerous, and began to think that maybe his father was right. That he was holding a cup of death—his death. With a trembling hand, he offered his father his cup.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” the boy said tearfully. As quickly as he said he was sorry, the glass in his hand was replaced. Filled now by a cup brimming with clear cool water.
As he sipped on his cup, his brothers cried in pain and held onto their stomachs. The fearful look in their eyes showed that they knew they had made the wrong decision, but it was too late. They fell to the ground, and after a final fearful cry, lay still. Their living brother dropped beside them. He looked to their father with tears in his eyes.
“Can’t you do something?” He begged. “You can make anything. You can change anything. Make them alive again. Change them so they are better.” He began to choke on his tears. “I should be dead too, but you saved me. Save them too.”
Their father bent down on his knees to pull his living son into a tight hug. Tears fell between them as they mourned their loss. “They wouldn’t let me,” his father finally answered. “I cannot make something it doesn’t want to be, and I cannot change something that is not mine to change.”
The surviving son knew that it was true. Knew his brothers had ignored their father’s warnings, just like he did. It wasn’t about how cautious or reckless they had been, the only reason he lived, and they had not, was because he obeyed his father and didn’t refuse his help.
The man still lives in his house with his son. It’s still the finest on the street. But now, far from the red mailbox, the big yard has three grave stones. Sometimes you can hear wailing as you go by; especially on nights where everything is dark, except for the lights that shine through the house’s many windows. Where you can see the living still find joy with one another.