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I never write because I can never figure out how to start or finish something or organize my thoughts. But I really want to practice. This was just a short excercise of "Type whatever comes to mind until you feel like stopping" to get the juices flowing, but I'm proud of any thought I can get on paper (or type or whatever) because of the rarity value it has. To me at least.
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A creature rose from the depths of blankets and sheets it had just before been entombed. It clawed its way to the surface to a world of darkness and then stared blearily at the nothing. Sleep. That’s what it had been doing before, right? That’s what you do before waking. But what happened before waking? Ah…what was it? How did it get here?
No.
Wait.
Can’t think.
What?
The deep abyss of darkness guarded its secrets greedily which somehow made its wanton silence seem to achieve a loudness infant noises and sounds only hoped to grow up to be one day. It wasn’t the silence of calm. It was the silence of a held breath. It was the unanswering silence of death that mocked life and spat at quiet, that amateur. It echoed and bounced around within the creature’s skull like no sound could, pushing away the thoughts, and more importantly, the answers. And the dark! Nothing should be like this dark! It wasn’t that it was a pool of never ending inky blackness that vacuumed time, light and space. It had a blue illuminating tint to it. It wasn’t that it was the complete absence of substance. It just made the world seem insubstantial This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!
This isn’t how it’s supposed to be?
Why?
What?
The creature gripped the sheets for the blessed, beautiful feel of them. It was real. It felt real because it was there. And if it was there it was obviously real, right? And if the creature could feel what was real, then the creature was obviously real, yes? Yes. Obviously. The creature clenched the bedding to its chest. It. It it it. I am not an it! The creature’s eyes went wide in the dark with this assertion. I am not an it! It thought again. I am an…I! I am a me.
Right?
The darkness guarded its secrets.
Answer me, the creature demanded of the dark. Am I dead? No, that wasn’t right. The dead don’t have sheets and beds. The dead don’t need sheets and beds. That was the point of being dead.
The creature felt the bed again. It moved its…legs. Yes. It threw them off the side of the bed. The loudness of the silence threatened to unnerve the creature, but the feel of floor gave it unwavering support. And then so did its legs. For two seconds. And then the creature fell backwards onto the hard mattress. Aargh! This is ridiculous!
Why?
Because this isn’t how it’s supposed to be! My back hurts.
How is it supposed to be then, pray tell?
I’m not supposed to be here in this dark. This dark?
And then the question that had bubbled to the surface of man’s mind hundreds of thousands of years ago resurfaced in the mind of the creature. A question that could not be answered. A question that only became a problem. A problem that had a solution.
Why is it dark in here?
And then the world was filled with a fiery blinding light.
“Ah. Mr. Greene. I see you are well,” said a tall blur.
The one referred to as Mr. Greene squinted at the shadow that addressed him. “Who?”
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