She holds a small box with a tightly closed lid;
He holds a half-filled glass of water with a rose petal floating on its surface.
“Where’s truth?” she asks.
“In here,” he says, pointing to his glass.
“Where’s beauty?” she asks.
“In here,” he says, pointing to his glass.
“Where’s love?” she asks.
“In here,” he says, pointing to his glass.
She is overcome with curiosity.
“What about death?” she asks.
“In there,” he says, pointing to the box she holds.
“Where’s greed?” she asks.
“In there,” he says, pointing to the box she holds.
“Where’s hate?” she asks.
“In there,” he says, pointing to the box she holds.
“Where’s grief?” she asks.
“In there,” he says, pointing to the box she holds.
She (accidentally) drops the box.
The lid bursts open.
“Where’s hope?”