Shapes. Blurred together, a formless mass of half-present lines, but shapes nonetheless. Floating in and out of sight, separating into distinct masses.

What are they? They’re so far away. Can they be closer?

The world turned sideways, left-ways, right-ways, upside-down. The shapes spun and scattered and ran away and vanished.

wrong no air it hurts pain run the spinning escape

Stop.

When the shapes returned, they were larger. Lines more distinct, the formless mass condensing into rigid, shaking things. They were singular, multitudinous, fragile. Patterns formed, fractalizing out and out and out until they didn’t. Backwards, starting from the end, tracing the pattern down. Endless jagged lines met the bigger line, others of the sort combined then, over and over until the biggest line of them all stopped.

It stops on both ends. Why? What defines its beginning and its end? What separates it from nothing?

Another thing stopped the line. This hadn’t happened with the small ones. The new thing was not a line, it was… all. It didn’t. But it had to. It was the top of the line, the thing that stopped, so what was it? Looking down, the mass of ever-shrinking lines reached out until they too became nothing, but not because of this other thing. Those lines stopped when there was nothing left, the big line stopped because there was something.

Looking closer, the big line had tiny lines on it, but they were different. Their pattern did not fractalize, it stuttered and skipped without rhyme and an idea appeared, unbidden.

Bark.

Meaning tied to the idea, it confessed purpose that lay beyond. The world froze, the lines blurred and scattered once more as the idea grew. It spun and whirred and clicked until the meaning compounded and brought with it association.

Tree. This is a tree.

Focus. Returning, the world sharpened and condensed until the thing, the tree, became whole again, but still it was wrong. It had a name, how could it be wrong? Did names not bestow purpose, meaning, significance? Could names be wrong? Return to the tree, examine it, find the source of the wrong and pick it apart. It fractalized out and down, the root of everything sitting high above before it met the everything nothing and stopped. That felt itchy. The idea there, that the root was above, that was the source of the wrong.

Trees don’t go down. But, if they don’t…

If they don’t, the problem is not the tree, it’s the world around it. I need to fix the rest of the world.

The tree didn’t need to become bigger anymore, but hadn’t the world spun left, right, up? Again. Again the world roiled and tipped and fell but the shapes, the tree, did not vanish this time. When the world stopped, the tree was right this time, and becoming right removed the itch. The clarity brought new ideas, and the ideas imprinted on the world to give it yet more purpose and more thoughts and more names.

Suddenly, shapes appeared everywhere. Different shapes with different ideas and different meaning and somehow it all made sense. How could it make sense?

Maybe the why doesn’t matter. Sense, reason, purpose, they all exist and I can imprint them on the things to understand them.

The world came into focus. What had previously been an ominous, endless ceiling was now the ground. It extended out in all directions, holding up not just a tree but dozens of trees, and in between the trees there was grass and dirt and in the dirt there were lines, sharp lines that brought ideas and meaning of their own and

WRONG BE IT CANT IT IS AIR STINGS ITS SHARP

RUN

Away from the lines, away from the wrong ideas that don’t belong. Away from the field and the grass and the dirt. Beyond the tree sat a new idea, one much larger than the trees that reached higher into the sky with slick, obtuse purpose. This idea felt familiar as well, and moving closer meant

Wait.

Moving. I can move. That means… I’m here? I’m here but I can also be there, which is how things get bigger or smaller.

Which means I am. My absence from other places means I am; I exist here.

Moving again, towards the strange obtuse block that towered over the trees. It, like everything else, was made of hints and shadows with little else defining it. Once it was close enough, it became obvious that the side of this idea didn’t exist. Except it did. Whatever it was, things were visible on the other side of it, but tiny fractals of frost lingered on the edges of this thing-that-wasn’t-a-thing-but-also-was.

This is… glass. A window. A thing that is a thing but also shows the things behind it.

Beyond the window, multitudinous shapes moved and shifted and rose and fell. Whatever was happening in there, it looked interesting. Despite the presence of the glass thing, the window, moving closer to the interesting shapes was easy. Passing into the building, a mass of new ideas now appeared.

Focus. Let the ideas propagate. Watch, learn, and just like the window, I can name these things. Whatever they are, they move in ways the trees and the windows don’t. Something about them feels familiar, though, as if…

People.

Humans, individuals, students, strangers.

Thoughts and ideas began appearing with more frequency. The surrounding world made more sense with each second that passed, which was an idea itself that brought excitement and recognition.

Time! Seconds, minutes, hours, days, months, all of time so that people can name and organize!

The massive crowd of people slowly organized themselves, moving until they resembled the ticks of a clock. They shrank and (the word, there’s an idea for this and it is) sat down. All of them sitting, looking forward with their eyes and their heads. In front of all of them, another person continued standing and gestured with their arms. So many people, all in one place; it inspired exploration and curiosity.

All the people were unique, with different hair and eyes and clothes that sat on their bodies and made them look even more special and unique. Some of them gestured, raising the hands and moving their mouths, which appeared to be for its own sake. There used to be reason to mouth-moving (there had to be or they wouldn’t do it) but ideas weren’t appearing when it happened.

Time continued passing, the people all gesturing and mouth-moving when something happened that made them all look away from the standing person. Their eyes were wide, they leaned away with tension in their bodies and doesn’t that motion look like an idea?

Fear.

Following their eyes, reverse-engineering their body movements, it became obvious what the source of the fear was. Another person had jumped to their feet, and their hands were resting on the table, which had a large crack running down the center. This person was the most unique of all of them; not only was she wearing clothes but she had extra pieces on her. They weren’t arms or legs, they were small dark things that jutted from her head and sparkled and flickered. Her eyes were intense and angled and so much brighter than everyone else’s.

Why would they be afraid of this? This person is special and unique and so cool and they feel… safe? Yes. Safe. Nice.

Another person reached out, grabbing the safe person’s arm before pulling her away. They left the building, everyone else watching until the two groups had separated. Staying felt pointless, why watch everyone else?

Following the safe person was easy, especially since she didn’t take a straight path. She needed to walk around other large shapes, walls and doors that impeded her progress. Moving was still awkward, shifting through the world required stiff and uncomfortable focus. While possible, the movement failed to track the path the safe person took, which meant passing through the walls and doors that the other people had to walk around.

I don’t feel a difference, though. Should I not be able to pass through things? Those people aren’t.

Continuing to watch these people only intensified the confusion. When they left the building, they sat on the ground and leaned against the walls, proving even more that these objects were not things that should be passed through.

Am I doing something wrong?

That idea feels familiar.

I'm wrong.

More watching. Time passed and passed and seconds became minutes became hours. Ideas turned and spun as the watching continued, with one thought crowding out all the others.

They interact with everything differently. They seem to notice things I don’t. They turn their heads when people move their mouths, they change their clothes when they’re inside buildings, as if the inside and the outside are different somehow.

At some point, the safe, nice person left the first building and walked away, with the second person following close behind.

Pause. Where were they going? There was so much other around them, how did they know where they wanted to be? Looking around, other ideas and thoughts and strange boxes of all shapes and sizes sat waiting.

They were all nearly eclipsed by the end. The nothing that sat between them all, behind and above and beside and in front of. It had no edges, no center, it was ever-present and infinite but also invisible and miniscule. It was a chasm of ideas, a thought that devoured all while demanding nothing.

It didn’t want absence, it was absence. Cavernous, infinite, nothing that sought only to grow and, by growing, shrink into obscurity.

The Void.

The end of everything and everyone it hungers for oblivion but its patience is eternal and it’s waiting for me to walk closer and to

No.

I want to see where the nice person goes. Why would I enter the Void?