In the beginning, there was nothing. No, not that far back. There was nothing before him or behind him. He knew he would see even though he saw nothing, he knew he would hear, though he heard nothing. It was less like a feeling and more like instinct, something that was not new to him but that has been programmed into him since his fabrication. He had no shape at this point, he was just a bundle of thoughts floating around like a school of fish, darting about with no real direction, waiting to be picked off by the darkness that surrounded him.
Yes, it was a he, there was something masculine about him even though he had no physical form. He was lost in an endless abyss, for now.Â
In the beginning, things were slow to happen. Time? None of that, not for him at least, he existed somewhere outside of time, perhaps between realms of such things. He knew not of himself as âHeâ. he was not self aware yet. among the thoughts in the bundle that was him there was not a single thought of the so called âselfâ.Â
No time passed for you and I, for him it was a thousand years if time were conceivable to him. This was when he began to take shape, he was very close to you and I. A single layer of dimensional matter separated us, it is this closeness that influenced the thoughts that bundled in his now formed faceless head.
It was no longer dark, he saw nothing, but he knew that it was no longer dark, he could feel it pulsing. Something in the distance was causing ripples of what could only be described as radiance. Was it in the distance? Maybe? He could not tell, there is no space without time.
He would linger there for what felt to him like eternity - of course that was false, but this world he existed in was not like one that you and I have come to know, and the radiance would continue to pulse throughout him, shaping him, molding him into what he always has been in the context of our traditional time. He becomes a construct. One that will be wrenched into existence to meet you.
In due time.Â
blakekathryn
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
annaxmalina
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline