A man wearing a tailored suit appears at a rivals lodging holding a box in his right fist and his hat in the other. He knocks on the door. A man in rags answers, he is desperate to experience the same kind of riches that the well dressed man has accomplished. It seems that they have been rivals since birth.  Both men came from the same place and are indistinguishable in almost every way. The only difference was appearance. One appeared  greater, and the other appeared lesser. The well dressed man's rival has been hounding, pleading, scheming for years to get whatever it is that made his counterpart successful. The man in rags dropped to his knees in the doorway of his broken down cube that he calls home. "What's your secret? Is it in that box?" This box was in the successful man's life for years. This exact interaction has happened countless times. The difference with this particular moment is that the man in rags has lost hope. Lost luster, lost vigor and drive. His downfalls have put extreme weight on his shoulders and has literally brought him to his knees right in front of his rival.
Once he had demanded,  "You will tell me your secret! At every chance you get you look in that box. At every heartbreak or wrong turn you peek inside and get aspiration, epiphanies. I want that. I need that. You tell me what's inside!" But it never worked. The well dressed man would say nothing, do nothing, and would act as if the lesser man was invisible. The man in rags could never convince the well dressed man to share his secret. Force wouldn't work either because the man in rags was a pacifist.  Also displayed weakness, meagerness, he was insufficient and desperate.  The well dressed man was the exact opposite,  strong decisive, calm and confident.  The lesser man wanted what was on the other side of the fence, he wanted to feel the soft bluegrass beneath his feet, as opposed to the dirt covered baroness yard that he had became so spiteful of.  "The key to success is in the box." The man in rags thought.
Now the man in rags is almost 6 feet into the ground, metaforiacally, he is at rock bottom. The well dressed man for saw this and that was why he was standing in front of a failing vessel holding his prized humble possession.
The box was black, with gold trim painted on the sides. It also had a lock embedded in the side made of platinum.  It was a identical to what the well dressed man embodied. The man in rags tried many times to break inside but to no avail,  the box stood resilient. Couldn't even make a dent or scratch.  
Now he had given up. Leaning against the frame of his door, welts growing bigger and more painful on his knees with every passing moment. Tears flowing from his eyes, so much he could hydrate a village of camels. The well dressed man, with no reservations, no emotion says nothing and hands the lesser male a purple key with a gold and platinum crown embroidered on the hilt. The man  in rags looks up with sorrow and anticipation.  He gently grasps the key and slowly glides it into the platinum lock. 'Click' it's opening. Every second that passes by feels like an hour to the man who's knees are numb with pain. Finally he looks inside and comes to see... That the box is empty. "What is this!? A trick?! A lie!? Why do you toy with me so, why?" The lesser man's shoulders slumped down to his waist. He falls dead fully silent.
The well dressed man puts the box aside while he kneels down on one knee, still exuberant with confidence and strength and looks the man in rags man in the eyes. The energy was so intense the lesser man was frozen and felt every emotion imaginable at once.  ".....There was never anything inside of this parcel..." The greater man  then put his hat on, and walked away.