Well, I'm a human male with access to the internet.
At the center of the room was a point. There was nothing particularly special about this point. Technically, it didn’t exist; it was solely a one-dimensional concept of space. But for the sake of this story, let’s give this point a chance at life.
The point was lonely. Around it, an infinitely large number of other points existed. So it was not “alone”, but still lonely. The point was lonely because it had no great purpose or importance, in the cosmic perspective. It will always exist as only a point. Lines and shapes formed important things. But this was just a point.
One day the room was lit. The point was awoken from its piteous sleep. The room had never been illuminated before. The point saw the room for the first time and, again for the sake of this story, instantly conceptualized the notions of “room”, “light”, and “place”. It quickly realized that it was at the center of this room. Then the light went off.
Then, what seemed like a billion years passed. The point fell into another impervious sleep. The light may have been turned on again, it may have even been on for the whole time, but the point slept, uninterrupted. It dreamt about light and nothing more. It had no concept of movement, sound, or exploration. Its dreams held no potential for great adventure. It dreamt of a light radiating from somewhere outside of the room. The point could not see the light, but it knew it was there. The light had to be there. There was no other option.
When the point awoke, it was dark again. It waited for the light to return. It never did. The point began to wonder if the light had ever been there in the first place. Perhaps it was a terrible folly – a wonderful yet terrible folly.
The point then broke the silence. It summoned an unknown strength and questioned the darkness. It asked, “Where are you, Light?”
There was no response because there was no light. In fact, there was no room either. Points cannot speak, cannot dream, and do not wish luminosity upon their surroundings. This is where the story breaks.
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I, your humble narrator, wish to add a small post script to this dreadfully unimaginative tale. When I dream of an imperceptible light, I disregard it as a wishful construction of the dream. Don’t waste away waiting for that light to find you. You are a point, in an indefinably large room searching for light in static darkness. I would posit that perhaps the search for light may be a misuse of your quite limited on the Earth.
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I, your humble author and a completely different persona than that of the narrator, also wish to add to this aberration. The pursuit of love is just as pointless as the search for light, yet it seems to be much more common and impossible to avoid.
I’m groping in the darkness for an exit from this room. I want to know if I will find her (my light) outside. I want to know if she is searching for me too. I want to know if she ever meant to light up my room. Will she ever do it again?
I want to know. Need to know?
——-
You, my humble reader, should add the final thought to this piece. Who is your light, who does (s)he shine for, and is it worth the risk of dying in the darkness to spend your life searching for this light?
