The man

There once was a man who knew nothing. He knew not where he was nor where he had been. “How strange” thought the man, “to be nowhere and see nothing.”

The man was not concerned, for though he saw nothing he felt he was content.

Complete and content.

The man sighed.

He may not know anything but he knew he could still think.

“Thinking’s as much as anyone’s got I suppose,” said the man, very aware he was speaking only to himself.

How much time had passed?

The man did not know but he wondered and pondered.

“If I could only figure out where I am”, the man said to himself at last, “then I might know which way to go.”

The man could go up, he could go down.

The man could go left and the man could go right.

There was still nothing.

A white abyss that sprawled endlessly.

He did not understand and he no longer felt content.

He could not remember if he had done something to put himself there.

He couldn’t remember anything in fact.

He tried and tried but not a single memory came to him.

“I can’t even remember my own name!” the man yelled out to nobody.

Frustrated the man sat down and began to cry.

Great heaving sobs for himself and for that which he could not remember.

His sobs echoed around him and purgatory whispered back,

“you are home.”

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