The Story of Hope

Of all those that came at the Pandora’s bar, none was as elusive and interesting as Hope. She had no friends but acquaintances as she liked to call them. “People”, she used to whisper, easily swayed where and when the tide is right. She herself wished to get to know them beyond their seemingly pertinent talks about chance encounters with life and faith and love and sometimes Zeus himself but she was always overlooked. Apparently, she was only good enough company when hearing about their complaints about the slackness of business or a dispute amongst themselves where one suddenly comes into riches and another wants it all for himself. “People”, she whispered, often with a sigh. 

Hope belonged to the family of virtues, the daughter of Love and Faith. It was relatively long before she decided to tread on her own. Pandora would a good place to start, she had thought. It was a place where her parents had first met many moons ago and fell for each other. With a one-way ticket and the blessings of her parents, she set sail to Pandora.

At the bar, much business happened since the great outdoor was too contaminated to breathe after the war. Hope laid her wares on the table, books of all sizes, big and small thin and thick. Some she wrote by herself and some were co-authored by her friend Compassion. But none sold. 

People of Pandora were greatly bothered and agitated by the audacity of this young girl. Often bewildered with the question whether this tramp of a girl was a soul-driven genius or a doppelgänger of one who was eager to escape the monotony of delayed gratification presented by the likes of her that came to Pandora before her.

Amongst the recent travellers to Pandora were Beauty, Dignity, Forgiveness and Tenacity amongst the many others, all wanting to tread their wares and make Pandora a figment of what it was before the war. However, Pandora’s people were all too consumed by their Antonyms. Both parties offered gratification but one of them offered it instantaneously and the people flocked towards it.

There had been the lamentable case of Peace, the dramatic poet, who had been belittled and cold-shouldered by the people for land and one-upmanship.

A circumstance which worked in Hope’s favour was that people didn’t dismiss her too rapidly and too irrevocably. People were waiting to make money off her after defeating and bankrupting her. 

Every evening, at about seven o’clock, Hope would sit herself down at her accustomed table and begin to rummage amongst the contents of her bulky portfolio. She laid all the books on the wooden table to be keenly inspected by the inquiring gaze of the people. On the back of each of the books was the announcement of its price, some 'time’.

The books, may not have been a hallmark of a genius but were remarkable for their unusual and unvarying theme. A denuded ghost town ravaged by war, a maimed soldier, an entire country fallen into the decay of a pandemic. The highlight of her books were the pictures of the wild fauna and the greenery, a smiling thriving society which was now replaced by misery and distress. The books were novel and noble both. Alas, none sold. 

"They are good", said one of the people to his circle of listeners but still bought none. Some did not because they did not want to be the first ones seen buying from the newest entrant in Pandora. "One doesn’t become an author merely by putting pen to paper much like one doesn’t become a magician by taking a rabbit out of a hat", said another with a smirk. Some cited the price, some cited the quality of the paper and some didn’t cite anything at all. None sold.

Many moons passed. The signs of financial embarrassment started to show. Hope's meals at the bar in Pandora became smaller and the claret was replaced by lager for she failed to receive a commercial sanction. "There was good workmanship in it", said one of the people, "but those pictures of the tall leaning tower with townsfolk having a merry time and feasting, look of a time bygone, now there is only many a maimed folk and just calamity."

The side talk that seemed to be affecting Hope deeply was that her parents Faith and Love enjoyed a much better status in Pandora than she did until now. She could understand their dilemma — Faith is a certainty, you don’t need hope. If you’re still hoping then your faith is not strong enough.

One fine day, Hope ordered for herself a long-necked bottle of red claret along with an elaborate meal that scarcely stopped short of being a banquet. 

"Seems like she struck a fortune", said one to the listeners on another table. "Must’ve hit gold going by the size of the feast."

"Have you sold all your books?", asked some perplexed.

"No, but I sold my first one", said Hope, smiling and a little high from the claret.

"But you are celebrating and feasting like you have earned a fortune, do you have faith that you will be able to sell another or better still all of them?"

"Yes", Hope replied proleptically. Such conviction had the attention of all of Pandora’s people. Her eyes turning so blue and deep that Pandora’s people could see the ocean in it, her hair flowing majestically, she announced: “I am Hope, daughter of Faith, daughter of Love, the princess of all of the seas and mountains and all of mankind.” The people watched in awe her confidence despite being down and out a few evenings ago. The proud wretched people maimed and ravaged by war, consumed by the unquenchable territorial ambition of empire builders and land grabbers, the depraved, the lecherous, the envious, the big-bellied and slothful, could barely believe their eyes. "How could Hope be so vibrant selling just one book?", they questioned. 

So consumed in themselves and dwelling in self-pity, always thinking and imagining that they were hard done by, that life was so unfair, if only they had this or that, or just lamenting at their plain bad luck, the people of Pandora seemed to be devoid of any memory of the beautiful world that they inhabited once.

They had failed to recognize that their redeemer was amongst them for so long. 

"Hope", she continued addressing the onlookers in the bar with the bottle of claret raised up high, "is a certain expectation of future glory. It is a pleasurable anticipation of a possible fulfillment of a desire that might be difficult to attain but can nevertheless be imagined. And you are what you imagine."

From that day to this, when any of the people of Pandora feel hard done by, they tell themselves and one another to keep their hopes high, for they know now that Hope is the greatest superhero amongst and within them.