I picked up the striking ornate oval blue and gold box that the stuttering elderly man gave me and told me was the meaning of life and asked me not to open it because it would release evil, when I walked down the gurgling silver river three days ago, even though I had convinced myself long ago that the meaning of life was non-existent. Slowly but surely, I opened the beautiful golden spiral latch as my mind clouded itself with doubts as to whether the man spoke the truth or not. I opened it clear and wide and inside it was lined with plush purple velvet and in the heart of the box was a minute piece of folded up yellowing parchment that was tattered and burnt at the edges. Gradually, I unfolded the piece of paper as excitement pounded in me like a drum and when my excitement reached its pinnacle, I swiftly opened up the piece of paper to discover the meaning of life and to my amazement, inside the piece of paper was just one single sentence: Curiosity is the meaning of life because humans are so curious, they want to keep looking for things in a way that as they keep looking, the discover the meaning and functions of the many different aspects that make life up. I scoffed and then threw away the piece of paper, only to discover another identical one stashed away in a corner so that it was barely evident and I picked it up and didn’t waste time opening it, only to read “I knew you’d look so I wrote a lie” and after reading it, I threw away the piece of paper only thinking to myself, the meaning of life is a lie.