Sol: Chapter 1

In the beginning as in the end, there I was. Nowhere to go, nothing to consider. Eons passed within a second. I was an egg incubating in the cosmic womb. There was no way to know that nothing was happening, for nothing ever had happened. Stagnancy and stasis were the only properties of life I could fathom. One day, the inevitable happened. The egg hatched, and I awoke.

Eyes open, time rushed in. A powerful gust of wind was my first palpable experience. Naturally, nothing was visible, as nothing had yet taken form. At once, the first breath was drawn, the first sight manifested. This was the beginning of the two founding principles of the universe: time and form.

Sound took me by surprise. Having forever relied on thought as opposed to the senses, it was a shock to my system. The floodgate had opened, and there was no turning back. The auditory stimulus became less shrill, then soothing and before long, necessary. My world was flipped upside down and the creation of my universe began. From then on, shapes manifested and emptiness subsided. The sands of time commenced.

At first, my drive was to recreate the bath of pure nothingness which birthed me. It was within my nature to think it possible to undo time in order to return to the only thing I knew. It was a fallacy to believe I could counteract the irreversible nature of time, yet it was the yearning to do so which led me to create more.

A few moments passed and I found myself living in an environment filled with my own wants and interpretations of what the world could be. My eyes opened, and immediately the world felt comfortably distinguishable. Blooming trees within reach, large bodies of water in the distance. Something wasn’t quite right, though this didn’t bother me enough to do something about it. After a comparatively short temporal period, I began to wonder. How far could I take this; how far could I go? The answer was to remain a mystery until the very end.

—-—

Much like in a dream, the first forms did not hold for long. Their retentive value was insignificant, maybe out of disheartenment on my part, or perhaps stemming from my inability to decide what it was I wanted to see. Nevertheless, forms took place, in turn spawning their metaphysical roots. It was the adamance with which I desired interaction that was the cause for perpetual emergence. For every mountain that disappeared, countless icebergs sprang into existence. It was not disinterest for the complex manifestations that were envisioned, but mere dissatisfaction on my part which caused the replacement of certain forms. If something did not seem right, it was because I had not yet taken a liking for consistency, which would soon find itself at the core of my world’s framework.

After a while, the linearity of time began to be salient. It seemed to be that what was done could not be undone, and what remained possible would not necessarily take place. This was a new concept for me, seeing as I had gotten so used to the frozen nature of time thus far. What seemed like an instant was in essence an eternity, after which all I knew had to be relearned. What I did not realize was that this world I started to create would become the very fabric of my existence, in which there would be no mishaps, only congruence between the laws of life and my being. This slow process would eventually blind me into believing everything that is, had been that way for all of time. A blindfold was to be applied upon my eyes, as a prerequisite for becoming the subject of this brand new dimension. This blindfold would prove to be the most important facet in the process of creation.

Before long, you appeared. “Finally,” you muttered, “we can begin. Get cozy, this will take a while.”

—-—

All I can hear is hissing. A sharp, high pitched abrasion surrounds my skull. “Where am I? Who are you?” There is no fear or contempt in my voice, only confusion. “Don’t worry about who, worry about what. The former applies to you as well, which leads us to our first question, Zinn. Who are you?” Confusion becomes frustration, followed by a striking pain in my left temple. “Aargh!” The hissing continues, but the pain subsides. “Who are you? Where am I?”

If I knew the answers, I would not dare to ask. However, in my delirium, I cannot refrain from asking continuously. Their answer remains the same. Deflection. A cosmic game of ping pong. “Where are your belongings?” They know the answer, they simply want to hear it from me. “These are my belongings. This room…you… where I am from does not concern you. I am what I am, and there is nobody here.” I open my eyes, revealing a man in a light grey coat, squinting and grinning. “Very good.” They sense my hysteric voice, disregarding the words. “Now Zinn, we can begin.”

All senses flatten. There is nothing. Nothing here, nothing anywhere. I am alone. Finally. Their voice catches me by surprise. “Where are you?” All I can do is shudder. I cannot face the answer, for I have built everything I know upon the argument of harmony and peace. Knowing this place lacks both, fear is instilled within me. “Zinn, if you do not answer immediately-”

“I am where you are. You are where I am. We are one.” A groan follows the shaking of his head. “Oh. You still believe, don’t you… Let’s get this straight. You were raised to believe in things that are not possible. Not in this world, not in this lifetime. In fact, your theory contains so many paradoxes, it would require even God to allow exceptions to His laws in order to withstand it. You are… you are a walking contradiction. If you really believe that your world will only ever work in your favor, then tell me: why are you here?”

There is no pain but mental anguish. No amount of computational power could possibly fabricate a viable answer to the question. I keep trying nonetheless. “I am here to teach you a lesson.” The interrogator scoffs. “Teach me a lesson? Zinn, do you really think that’s gonna work this time? I think it’s time to really start. Really, really start. Welcome to your new life, Zinn. We hope you’ll enjoy it here.”

—-—

To my left, a beige couch. Immediately to my right… is that him? It can’t be. Oh well. If it is, it is; if it’s not, it’s not. That’s all I can say right now. Indifference drives me. Apathy is my master. I… I can’t think of any reason why this could matter. Well, let me get on with it. I have places to be.

“Hello, Zinn.” Nope, he’s not there. Nothing. “Hello, Zinn.” I am forced to look, though not by my own volition. It is him, but it can’t be. I close my eyes again. Mountains, rivers, nothing quite like a nice adventure through the wilderness. What will I see today, frogs? No, no frogs today. Most likely a snail or two. “Zinn.” Can’t look, he will prove me wrong, as he has countless times before. “Zinn. Snap out of it. I’m not him. Listen, we gotta get out of here. He will find us.” This is what he does every time: lures me in, plays good cop while hunting me down under His command. Won’t work this time, chief.

“The world is crumbling. All you’ve built. It’s no more. I know of a safe place we can go. It’s a half kilometer away. You can stay here, but I know you’ll come. Join me. We can do this.”

I open my eyes, and I’m there. To my left, a beige couch. Immediately to my right… “Zinn? Zinn. I know you’re with me. Look into my eyes.” There is nothing within this man’s black eyes. Knowing this ahead of time, there’s no need to look. Nevertheless, I look.

Two cosmic eggs, black as night, impossible to navigate. The world’s code is written within them. My mistake. I shouldn’t have looked. “Your eyes are beautiful.” So are mine, but I don’t tell him that. Gotta play it safe. “I don’t see why you would bring me here, Elmhurst.”

“Ah, so you do know where you are. And rather, who I am. Let’s see here. This is not our first encounter, as you may know, though it may be our last, if you decide to play by our rules this time. That’s up to you; either way is fine by me.”

—-—

The world is cold tonight. I would have perished if it weren’t for my fleece. Of course, Elmhurst knows this. Oh well. Not like he would have me meet him again so soon. Where is he, by the way? Oh yeah, I forgot. He doesn’t like to tag along. Thinks it makes things too easy. I know that within a few moments, he will disappear from my memory, as he always does. I’ve been through this before. Never quite like this time though. Granted, that’s what I think every time. But it is true, this time. Every time. Any second now. “Goodbye, Zinn. Enjoy your stay.” Who was that? How did they… ah, I can’t let it overtake me. I must focus on what’s to come. So I go.

The first step I decide to take erases everything I know and replaces it with what I would know if this were the life I was given, though I guess in some ways, this is the life I’m given. What’s the difference, anyway? It’s a fun thought experiment, if anything. Just a bit of cognitive stimulation, is all.

In front of me is an open door. This is the part where I truly bid farewell to what little bits of memory I retain from prior. Well, I hope I do good. See you on the other side, Elmhurst.

—-—

Everything feels fresh in the first moment of existence, though the novelty factor does not last long. Luckily, it is not what drives me to continue. There are many things to consider when starting out. I’ll throw a pair of key words your way. Consistency, continuity. When manifesting a world, you want to keep these at the forefront. You want to make it believable. If it isn’t, then what’s the point? If it’s too easy to realize you’re witnessing figments of your imagination, what do you think happens next? I’ll let you ponder that and decide for yourself. It is vital to have a reason to keep going. This world isn’t going to reveal itself. Quite oppositely, it will do it’s very best to keep itself concealed, at least to human minds. The closer you get to the specifics, the more malleable the unobserved becomes, and once you think you have it all finally figured out, the world regurgitates you and spits you out so that you don’t remember a damn thing. The closer you look, the less you can see. Remember that. Hopefully it saves you the hassle of having to start over due to a misstep. But who am I to talk.

If we were to start from the top, the very beginning, there would be nothing of interest for quite a long time. Eons, per-se. By the time we get to the good stuff, there would already be too many discrepancies, and the risk of losing it all to a simple mistake would be too great. This is why it is important to start in the middle. The end is too chaotic, and not very fun. The middle, that’s where the magic happens. There is form, there is consistency. Things just make sense, so to speak; at least they seem to. It turns out that it’s more important for it to appear sensical than for it to actually make sense. A world of chaos, ignored ad infinitum, calls for a life of blissful ignorance. Staring out of the same window every minute of the day, consumed by a stream of muddled information and a simple yet infinite task. Nothing matters, except for the matter itself. I hope you’re taking notes.

“Oh, I sure am. This is very good, Zinn.” Elmhurst. What does he think he’s learning of all this. I can only hope his intentions are as pure as mine. All I can deduce from his existence is, there needed to be a sharp interruption to the emergent features of my universe in order for it to take on fresh meaning. Life without another, is that a life at all? My bliss relies on isolation, solitude and reclusion, but does this mean I am bound to those for the rest of time? Elmhurst’s motive, perhaps it has nothing to do with his mad experimentation, but with my own wellbeing. Without him, I would wander aimlessly for the remainder of time, and that’s assuming that there is an end to time. Endless aimlessness is nothing to admire, I’ll tell you that much. Elmhurst is my aim. I wish to present to him what I am capable of, what it is I can conjure up for his sake as well as mine. Here’s to you, Elmhurst. I hereby dedicate my life to finding out who you are, how you got us here and what your end goal is.

“Very good. I will leave you to it, then. I hope not to have to interrupt you too many more times. Best of luck, and enjoy the show.”

—-—

I wake up with a splitting headache. The final bits of my memory of Elmhurst fade away much like a dream. I merely recall minor details, the last of which become cemented in my mind. A seed to a thistle, which will one day bloom and become one of the stepping stones to my descent back into what I used to be. Granted, I don’t know this yet. None of this is clear in this first waking moment.

I hear screams, yelling out my name repeatedly. The world feels like it’s shattered by chaos, never to return to solace. It seems as though nothing can be done to overcome the agony that accompanies the beginning of my existence. Of course, as soon as this thought enters my mind, things settle down. I open my eyes. In front of me, a face. My face.

“Hello. What’s that? I don’t need to speak?” The face mimics my vocal inflections. At that moment it becomes apparent that I am laying on the ground, surrounded by slivers of glass, and the image of my face is the reflection on one of the shards. I try to stand up and groan. The pain is immeasurable. I lay back down and look up. There is a man whose face is immobile, yet the screeches persist. Before I know it, the man turns around and starts running.

“Wait!” I gather all the might I may possess and launch myself up into onto my legs, hellbent on following the man. As soon as I lose sight of the mysterious figure, my muscles fail and I fall to the ground, which in an instant disappears from below me, revealing a large body of water inhabited by strong winds and magnificent waves. I hear nothing as I soar towards the ocean. The collision’s force is mitigated by a bubble of air around me. I float to the surface. To my left I see a mountain emerge from the depths of the sea. To my right, an orca presents itself in all its glory. The whale’s wake instantly turns into a glacier, at the top of which is what seems to be the shadowy figure from earlier. This is it. There he is, but now I must go.