CHASM

ONE

ONE

I wake up, and the first thing I see is darkness. I like it— It's unyielding, staring right back at me with no remorse. It seems to question me, prod me.

"Who are you? Where are you?" It asks.

Too many questions, I think, although I don't think it for long; I realize I can think, and that leads to more thoughts, which leads me to more thinking. But then I stop. I stop thinking, which I like. Then I think about that. And that makes me laugh. And then I realize I can laugh, and that leads me to think about laughing, which makes me laugh again.

Then I realize the darkness is still there. "Who are you? Where are you?" I finally answer back internally.

"I am everything you'll ever need," the darkness says, which makes me smile, leading me to laugh about the smiling since I had never done it before.

"Why?" I ask.

"Because, in the end, I'm everything. And I'm always there. Just turn out the lights, and I'm there."

And then I see the light. It completely envelopes me—just for a moment—nearly imperceivable. I like it. Then, it's over in an instant. There was the darkness again: a familiar face, my first friend.

But then, the strangest thing happens: I see a light somewhere in the distance. I try to explain distance to the darkness.

"It's like something is there but somewhere else. And over there, it's everything, but I'm not there, so..." I trail off, confusing myself.

"Yeah, I never got it, either." The darkness says, chuckling.

But the light gets closer. And closer.

It's someone.

Someone is the light.

Someone like me?

Who am I?

I hadn't thought of that before now. I am suddenly aware of myself: I am in a body, complete with two arms, two legs, one head, two eyes, two feet, two hands, chest, hips, back, belly, shoulders, neck...

The figure looms over me.

"Who are you?" It says.

"I've been thinking about the same thing, myself," I say, before gasping.

I talked!

I just. Talked.

I thought, but out loud.

"Good job," I hear the darkness say in the background.

The figure seems quizzical.

"Why are you so surprised?" It inquires.

I am hesitant to speak again. How did I do it again?

"I've just—I've never talked before?" I say, accidentally posing the answer as a question.

"What're you doing here?" It asks.

"I don't know," I realize and say simultaneously.

"I don't know," I say again, rolling the words around with my tongue.

What am I doing here?

What am I DOING here?

WHAT AM I DOING HERE?

The words are yelling at me. I squint. "What am I doing here?" I say softly (to the figure this time).

The figure doesn't seem to know how to respond.