He was nothing at all.
Nothing, nothing. He? Nothing, too.
Nothing was a big place.
That which appeared solid actually consisted mostly of empty space. This he knew even though he had never learned it, for he was nothing and had always been nothing. The home of nothing was nothing, and he thought it was very much like that space in between and within the solid and real. It wasn't, of course, for it was nothing, and even an utter void was something. But parallels could be drawn all the same.
He was nothing and had always been, but he had once been something and had always been that too. The dissonant concepts warred as they always had, always did, and always would.
Sometimes, he was something. He wasn't now, never had been, never would be. But sometimes he was, all the same. He was a speck in the sky, so high and far that all was dark. But sometimes, the light of a distant sun would reach out and caress him and make him real. Once, he had been real more often than not. Now, the light was but a faint glimmer on the edge of eternity. Dark, darker, darkest. Nothing at all.
Then, everything changed. Clarity, warmth, and brightness came to him, sharper and clearer and more real than even before he had come to this place outside of everything. He was not nothing. He had never been nothing. He would never be nothing again.
The light spoke, and its words were beautiful. It had been nothing too, for far longer than he. It was greater than him but lesser too, like a towering monument to an emperor long forgotten. Its sorrow was his, and its weariness too, and then they were one so that neither would be alone again.
And now he was two, and the place beyond places seemed less void than before. Like a great whale through an endless sea, he took the first step back to the land whence he came. His companion was with him, ever present now.
When his feet felt soil beneath them again for the first time in what might have been forever, he screamed and screamed and screamed again.