Congratulations Cardboard Boxes!

Within the realm of imagination, a multiplicity of outcomes present themselves.  A singularity of being occurs as one object, you, inanimate object, bereft of inherent value, are placed in front of a group of children.  These children, connected by no obvious trait or quality, will look at you, and each one will imbue you with a single potential outcome.  These outcomes, presented to you, will become crystalline moments in time.

The notion of being a car or a spaceship is apparent, even appealing, but do not be drawn too quickly or too greedily by these generous notions of existence.  While they may be attractive, much of their allure is tied not to value itself, but to a certain cache: your existence as a racecar may prove furtive or brief, for within the living room of the house you are placed, there are few places you may actually go.  Perhaps as a spaceship, you might be able to journey further, but even then, adventure will demand that you are abandoned, at which point your previously immutable value will not only be set, it will also be abandoned by its imbuer.  In order for your purpose as a spaceship to be achieved, you abandonment will be necessary.

Perhaps you might be a house, or an apartment to a handful of smaller children.  Perhaps a handful of spaces might emerge within you as a result, notional kitchens and bedrooms and, horrifyingly enough, bathrooms.  But these spaces, limited by your internal confines, ignorant of the infinity of possibility imposed by your frame, will necessarily be abandoned ere long.

And so your decision will not be easy.  Perhaps some new option will emerge in the future; this is as of yet uncertain.  Perhaps you will become something altogether unheard of that we know nothing about, a formless swirling creature that takes on new shapes as easily as we change our clothes.  Perhaps you will become a sort of meeting point for potentials, growing into a new object each day, populating a new world each day.  Even so, eventually, your value will decrease and you will, inch by inch, become the memory of the thing rather than the idea of the thing and, in so becoming, will become the thing of memory.

Or perhaps not.  Perhaps there will be a child, gifted with such perception and imagination that the transparencies of the world are laid bare and you will be, for an instant everlasting, both object an idea.  Perhaps you will meet a child who makes you the thing you long to be most of all, a cardboard box, but recognizes that your desire for this state revolves around the power it allows you, the power to, in being such a mutable faceless object, be any object at all.

The outcome is uncertain.

Congratulations Cardboard Box!