Could you imagine living a life of not- knowing? Not knowing what to do with yourself? Not even knowing who you are. All you know is a sadness and a loneliness flows deep through your bitter, heartless body. There is a constant void of oblivion floating all around you, and you are a part of it. A short story of mystery and loneliness. Read on to discover your own interpretation of a hopeless nothing.
He didn't know what to do. What was He doing here? Why was He here? He didn't want to hurt those wide eyed little beings, that trudged alone in his dark, lonely woodland, constantly looking blindly about them for something- as if that would help them... help them to escape the oblivion that was creeping up behind them every time they looked away. He pinned the crumpled notes to the unhealthily thin trees , carefully observing with his eyeless sockets the black ink scribbled in sequences that He did not understand. He didn't write these notes, He couldn't write notes, it wasn't what He did. It wrote them. If He didn't obey It- He himself would be sent to oblivion. He couldn't remember anything, He didn't really know anything- only what He had to do... to make It happy. Sometimes he felt emotions though, sadness he can recall; he was taken, taken... by who, by what? Sometimes He got confused, so many things had happened. Taken, He was taken. He didn't really know how to explain it, He couldn't; there was a part of him missing, He had to do this- it was what He was meant for... that's how it was now anyway. His pale face touched the dripping treetops, little slivers of light from the moon- lit sky was fading into the silent forest abyss through the tiniest of gaps between the trees. Good. It was darker night. He waited; feeling the forests' chilling embrace wrapping itself around his bony, slender structure of a 'living' being. He didn't know what living meant anymore, most of the time he felt nothing; the bitter, cold nothing.
With nothing as to resemble ears, he heard it- finally. The loud yet unmistakable rustling of one of the little beings trudging alone through his damp forest worriedly. He could smell its fear, even without a nose... he was familiar with this sensation. Gripping an ice cold branch with his pale, slender hand- he disappeared into a void of nothing.
The drums were ringing in his head...
It had begun.