De Nada

by maddrunkgenius

To understand, we must start at the end and work our way back to the beginning.

He is dead and in a casket. He is at his own funeral. People are crying, but why? There are not many people around to cry, but why? Where did they all come from?

He is in a hospital bed, the nurse covers him with a white sheet. In the hall outside, a doctor tells the people that he is dead and they burst into tears. There are less here than before, but their tears are no less genuine, the scene no less moving.

He is quiet. He is very quiet and the people around him do not acknowledge his existence as they chat and interact around him. He is there, but he is not. He may as well not be there, but he is unavoidable. It would be impossible not to notice him, but no one does.

He is at work, it is his last day. Tomorrow he won’t be able to come back. He has known for a very long time that this day was coming, so he has had a very long time to accept it. He has accepted it. But what will he do?

It is dark and he is asleep in bed. No, not asleep, but lying still as though he were. He is sad. Why is he sad? There are no tears, there are no words. No sounds, not a sigh or groan to give a glimpse into his thoughts. He is sad. He must be. There is no one else.

He is very young. He is in school and afraid. Of what? Who knows. But he is there and he is alone because he is afraid. He sits, surrounded by others, but he might as well not be there. He does what he does quietly and proceeds without fanfare. He is not the target of hate or love, but indifference.

He is playing. There is a swing and he swings on it. Other people play with a ball or on a merry-go-round, he stays where he is and swings. Now and again, boys and girls swing next to him, but there is little talk.

He is very loud. He is crying out, screaming with every ounce of power his small body provides to him. He is hungry, uncomfortable, and frightened, but no one is near to help him. Someone must be in the house, but they do not come.  Eventually, there is food, there is milk, and there is changing. He is content.

He is pain, terrible and seemingly unbearable pain. He is a parasite forcing his will on another body. She could not turn her thoughts elsewhere if she tried. Those around her might, but dare not. He is the reason for their occupation, too.

He is warmth, tingle, and explosion. He is the only thought of two minds for a single moment, and the only reason for their existence. He is life itself.