Unfinished: Concept!Wally

1

He woke up in a blank white void. There was nothing as far as he could see. He held up his hand, merely an outline. He felt... empty. Unfinished. He didn't even know what he was. Suddenly, it came to him. "Wally." He said out loud. "My name is Wally." He felt... better, more whole now that he knew his name. 

He wandered around a bit, searching for something to do. But he found nothing. So he sat.

"My name is Wally. Wally Darling. And I am a sketch." He paused. "I am unfinished." He looked around again. "What am I supposed to do?" He asked. But there was no answer. There never was.

And such was his life. 

Trapped in the blank void, Wally slowly started to go insane. "I'm fine, I'm  fine." He muttered. He was anything but fine. His hair was unkempt and his clothes were wrinkled. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He screamed into the void. Nothing happened.

Days passed. Or at least he thought so. There was no way to measure time in the Expanse, as Wally called it. He paced. He ran. He screamed. He cried. Nothing happened. Still the blank white void surrounded him. 

He could do nothing. Life held no meaning here. All he could do was wait and hope for something to happen.  

Wally started talking to himself just so he could hear something. He talked about anything that came to his mind. The conversations became darker and darker as time went on. Time passed quickly enough talking, but eventually, talking to himself no longer worked.

He fidgeted with his clothes, bored. He did everything he could think of. Nothing worked. The boredom became too much. A hissing, crawling madness awoke in his brain.

He started chewing on his left hand. Eventually, he bit down hard enough to draw not blood, but ink. He stared at it, fascinated. He touched it with his finger and watched as it stuck to his finger. He touched the floor and saw the ink smear on it. He drew a circle, then another and another, biting his hand to get more ink whenever he ran out.

The black circles stood out against the white void. He drew more and more, until he passed out. When he woke up, the circles were still there. Wally ran around happily. He laid down and stared at the circles.

His life became a series of circles upon circles. He woke up, he bit his hand and drew circles, he passed out. He drew circles in circles, overlapping circles, circles and circles. 

He started experimenting with other shapes, but circles remained his favorite. He drew stars and squares, triangles and tea cups. One day, he drew a sun. A simple circle with spikes. That was the only thing he drew for a while. It fascinated him. Such simple shapes, coming together to form something so beautiful. Eventually, he started drawing again, but never near the sun. 

He started writing on the floor. Just random, disconnected words.

One day, he stopped and looked around. The ground was covered in shapes. He started walking across it, just looking at his work. Eventually, he came across the sun. There was something in it.