Either a wild beast or a god

Can you imagine nothingness? Something less than zero, for even zero itself, is something? Can you see it with your eyes? Hear it with your ears, the lack of any substances not impeding the sound? Smell it with your nose? Or maybe taste it as it rolls around on your tongue?

The absence of light is darkness, yet even then we can perceive darkness, darkness is something, zero is one.

However nothingness? It doesn't exist, because even not existing means it exists.

He can't discern nothingness, not even gut instinct, a sense beyond what we cognize as a "sense" that can describe where I am right now.

There is no light, but there is also no darkness, it's like being submerged underwater, cristal clear water, there are no impurities, no ocean floor, no light, no background, just clear nothingness.

It has no color, no taste, no sound, nothing is here, it doesn't exist, yet just by not existing it exists, a state of being which can not be identified, despite the incredulity of the situation he is in, he has been in for so long, the concept of length has lost meaning itself, however.

Here, in this space which he is the sole king of, there is nothing, nothing to do, nothing to see, nothing to experience, only one action is available, thinking.

All his memories are here, cristal and eternal within his head, no experience left forgotten, he has been watching them, seeing and listening over and over again over every part of his existence.

Is it strange, to remember remembering a memory? For that is the only thing new, the only thing that changes here, he can only remember remembering memories in this desolate nothingness.

And he remembers it all well, for his memories are eternal.

He remembers the impact, the screeching, and the yells, the pain, and the blood, the fear he felt, how he longed for it, for so long he had longed for the feeling of pain, the feeling of fear, for a long time the simple desire to experience anything had driven him mad.

That time, however, has long passed. The despair he felt upon first coming here is gone, yet he has no acceptance of this circumstance in his heart.

He went mad here, writhing and wiggling within his head, driven insane by nothing, nothing but himself, yet such a long time passed in this nothingness, that he went sane from too much insanity.

Only to go barmy once more, noncompos mentis, killing himself back them seemed like a great idea, only that he could not even do that, for he too in this place was nothing, nothing truly existed of him.

There exists no dagger to slit one's own throat here, there doesn't even exist a throat, the concept of existence, of being, is a foreigner in this land of nothing, not willing to step a foot inside.

He went thru many phases, he can remember that much, he can after all remember it all.

Going nuts from religious zealotry, even though he was an atheist before.

Going on a murder frenzy, killing all the nothingness that surrounded him, no blood was shed, unfortunately.

Depression gripped hold first, of course, he became a hollow shack of a man, a creature whose shadow could not be distinguished from its body.

Wild rage too was a component many times, one of the things that drove him sane out of his emotional slumps, yet he was a bull without a target, only able to drive the rage inwards, towards madness once more.

There was also the occasional bout of arrogance, he was the only being that existed in nothingness, even if he was alone, everything that surrounded him was his and his alone to possess, all the nothing in the world a man could wish for, how could he not be a god then?

It took surprisingly long for joy to take place in him, giggling, smiling, and laughing like a child at nothing but himself, he cracked jokes as he stood on a stage in front of a million-strong audience, all cheering and clapping for him and the internal jokes he spouted.

Sloth was an all too common occurrence after one of these bouts of madness, he would just 'closed' his eyes, pretended to be asleep, think of nothing, ironic, so much nothingness around him yet he had to make an effort to get it into his head, so much for being a god.

Sometimes his loins would grip and burn with flaming desire, lust was a harsh one on him, especially while reviewing his memories.

On the occasional reflection of sanity, a most terrible time for him as when he was insane at least he didn't think as much as he did while sane, he would watch them, review them, comment on them, bemoan them, his memories.

Yet even that faded, for he would know each part that came next, each comment he had made over the "time" spent in this place, eventually silence was all that came from him while watching his memories unless he was in another bout of insanity then any number of reactions was applicable.

He does not know how many times he had seen them, he stopped counting after the first 278, then restarted again,192 this time, but then stopped, and started, many many times he stopped and started.

By this point he remembers everything he ever did or did not do in his life, he remembers remembering it all, for he can not forget, in this nothingness, there is no means of forgetting, only remembering.

He had long gone past boredom, he could not feel that one for a long time already, or could he? He wasn't always sure what he felt, so long had he felt nothing, and then something, he gets the emotions confused sometimes.

He could still remember the early times too. When he would watch his memories, experience them all anew, seeing them all unfold, lamenting in his head, complaining, about how he could have done better, changed something, anything, doing anything, even doing it worse than it turned out would have been better than doing nothing at all.

That too, had he had grown out of after some time, too many times had he thought the same thing about the same memory, by this point, it has become just a fact, a statement.

Loneliness was an emotion he had eradicated by this point, for a long time he cured it by having multiple personalities, engaging in dialogue with himself over many things.

He invented languages, whole histories, planets and creatures, systems, concepts, equations, and ideas with himself as the only person to witness it all.

He became the greatest painter, the greatest musician, the greatest sculptor, the greatest mechanic, without even having touched a brush, an instrument, or a wrench.

History rose and fell at their command, the seas shifted, the planets fell, and the stars shone, they were all that existed and all that mattered in this empty void.

Yet all that falls apart once you realize that all your, their, memories are the same, unforgettable and unaltered, only your reactions to them make the difference, they were all copies, just some more angry or melancholy than others.

And when you went thru all those emotions, in all of their subtle variations, over each of those memories, it all came tumbling down, at least the chaos of it had been fun.

By this point, all that was left in him was nothingness, yet it was all in there.

He felt everything and nothing at the same time, so much had he experienced, yet so little did he do, he felt it all, and it all felt like nothing.

Now he experienced something he had before once more, he could not go insane anymore, no matter how he tried he had gone too many times off the rails.

It was a game of chess that he had been playing, 3rd grade, against his friend, he has already played the game thousands of times, millions maybe, who truly knows how many.

He remembers it beat for beat.

As he watches his hand shift, he knows its path, the dark horse moves with the swiftness of an overweight teenager who hasn't been seen running for the past decade, an opening move, to draw out the horse from the formation, allowing for further advancement.

And just as the dark horse slaps down onto its equally black square... darkness.