Lesbos
To many of the 'old-guard,' the old ways were seen as the best. Perhaps that is why so many of the gods of the Greek pantheon had fallen by the wayside by the inception of the twenty-first century. Modern conveniences were not seen as 'convenient' so much as a hassle or a diversion from worship. It is said that even unto death, Hermes swore by his winged feet than the more modern forms of travel, such as bullet trains, automobiles, and jets. A pity that even his great speed could not save even him from an even swifter death at the hands of the Dark One.
There were those, however, who readily embraced new technologies. These were the ones who adapted best to the ever-changing world around them. Perhaps this alone is the reason they are still alive at all. While not all in the Pantheon felt this way about technology, one who allowed for such things was Pandora the All-Gifted.
This is not to say that the First Woman, wife to Epimetheus, was skilled in using technology. Quite the contrary, she was never one for frivolities like cars and cell phones... but she did find herself rather attracted to the television.
To the casual observer, this might seem a bit odd, indeed. However, for Pandora, living with the guilt of releasing upon the world the Seven Deadly Sins, escapism was a necessity. She had done her share of drugs through the sixties and seventies, but had tired of them by the eighties. She had only done one hit of acid - 'a bad trip,' the man had called it - which only recounted her horror of the day she had opened her damned box in vivid, garish colors and maddening gremlins.
It was then that she discovered television. She was particularly attracted to soap operas and cartoons, stories that numbed her mind, making her forget, if only for a moment, the guilt that she had bore so long.
Indeed, this was exactly what she was doing even now.
Medea, being by her very nature, ensconced in the old ways, did not have a television on her property, so it was up to Pandora to find her own entertainment. She had spent many a day walking the island, clutching her small wooden box beneath her arm, looking for a box of a different sort. One day, she found one, outside of a little pub in the center of town. The women there were quite friendly, but Pandora paid them no mind.
Today she sat at the bar, her box clasped across her chest and ginger ale chilling before her, watching the images that played on the screen. Most of the patrons seemed oddly interested in the news of the days events.
"...in the Sudan. We turn now to another part of Africa - Darfur - where, even now, the Muslim Janjaweed militia group wages their war with the rest of the local tribes. Thousands of civilian casualties have been noted including women and children. These photos, taken just hours ago, show a local hospital, specializing in the treatment of children, being firebombed by the Janjaweed..."
Few people in the bar noticed as the beautiful woman with the wooden box slipped off her barstool and made her way into the restroom, her long brown hair covering her reddening eyes. Closing the stall, Pandora sat on the commode and wept.
Why? Why does she keep doing this to herself? Surely, she will have come to terms with her sin by now? One mistake made thousands of years in the past... but one with consequences that have only worsened with time. And, thanks to the foresight of the gods who had created her, Pandora had lived to see that worsening. Through her tears, she looked at the wooden construction in her hand.
Surely now, she thought to herself. Surely now more than ever, the world needs what I have to give... hope.
But, no. It was her box that kept her going, her box that sustained her always. For all the good it would do, the contents of her box must stay with her. That is how it must be.
Then, with a sudden resolve known only to her, the all-gifted one rose from her seat, exited the bathroom, and exited the bar, never to return...
