Fading Away

Before My Life

A white slate. That's as far back as I can remember. The whiteness of all things and no things was what my world consisted of. I awoke to the purity of the nonexistent landscape, my eyes taking quite a while to adjust to the lack of color. I looked for signs that suggested that something--anything--had accompanied me there, but found nothing. I was alone.
Very suddenly, I became the cat (I would eventually learn) everyone said was killed by curiosity. The riddles my mind craved solutions for came in never-ending torrents and bounced around my brain for I don't know how long. It's amazing how many questions the mind can come up with when it doesn't have any answers to give it the satisfaction of knowing. No indications of anything new arrived, and so my questions were piling up with no answers in sight, to the point where I wish my head would crack open so I could spill them out like puzzle pieces onto the white slate that was my home. No--more like my prison.
But this only led to more questions: who would be there to see my thoughts? Would they bring color to this lonely landscape? Would ridding my head of all of these unanswered questions reduce me to a boring white slate, making me sink into the void of colorless confusion? Would something else eventually be sent here to take my place as the only thing in this white prison? I hoped not.
I would not wish this upon my worst enemy. Well, if I had any, that is.
I don't know how long I was in the prison. It's kind of hard to count seconds when nothing else is moving around you. Nothing to verify just how slow or fast you are moving, no sun or moon or shadows to keep track of the many or few minutes. You feel like it's an eternity but you wouldn't know what that's like. How could you? All you've known is the slate.
Until, of course, someone pulls you out. Certainly there was a way in, so wouldn't I be able to leave? I searched and searched around the slate for a nook, a cranny, a foothold on a wall that wasn't there, even a hole--in the sky or in the ground. My neck was sore from craning every which way, and yet, not a single thing presented itself to reward me for my efforts. This isn't even really a prison, is it? More like I just don't exist... I wouldn't be able to get out, if I ever could, on my own.
This was my definite conclusion for a very long time (or was it short?), until the day when things started to appear.
At first, they materialized by themselves, alone like me. The very first object, if I remember correctly, was a tiny slate a different color. I didn't know what color yet, but it definitely wasn't white, and I was glad to have a change in my bland existence. I remember that the little slate had four legs sticking out of it. It couldn't move like me, couldn't make noises like me, and it certainly didn't look like me. I paced around it cautiously, ready for any sudden movements. What was it? I know now that it was a table, but back then it was a strange tiny slate with four legs and it had materialized from nothing.
After the table appeared their were colorful sticks, some of them broken, spread out across the table in no order. The ones that were still in one piece came to a point at one end, and they sometimes stood at an angle, moving across the table and leaving colorful marks and drawings of things I had not yet seen before. The completed images were fantastic, though I have no idea what force made the colorful sticks stand up and move with the precision they had. They were very intriguing, giving me rough ideas of what a whole world made of these different objects would looked like.
Eventually, many objects filled a square space, none of them would cross an unseen line. There was a box with a half-cylindrical lid that opened to reveal many different contraptions that worked several ways. Some of them even looked like I did, in terms of shape. There was also another slate with legs, but it was bigger and the flat part was bouncy and covered in cloth that was decorated with shapes almost identical to the drawings. It also had a deformed fluffy shape sitting at the edge of the slate, it was soft and squishy when you pressed on it. I sat on the slate and lay down, my feet resting on the fluffy shape. It didn't feel comfortable, so I repositioned myself where my head rested on the squishy object. Much better, I thought contentedly.
        All sorts of objects appeared on the otherwise blank floor, all of them had different shapes and sizes and colors. Many of them looking like they had different ways of working.
          The same strange thing would happen with some of these objects. I knew they all had a different purposes because they would behave just like the colorful sticks: they would be pushed or pulled or lifted in many directions, with no pattern to speak of. It was always interesting to watch, but it bothered me that I couldn't see what was making the objects move.
          How long this went on, I didn't know. Nor did I care, I was satisfied with having something to do rather than wander aimlessly around the void. 
          Until one second, one minute, one measurement of time, I began to see what the force was.
          First I saw the mop of many strings at the very top of the force. The mop was a dark color, and it would move and sway with the motion of the main force. It was attached to other forces I could not yet see.
The second feature I laid eyes on were the orbs parallel to each other, just below the mop. They were dazzling with a hint of wonder and curiosity in them, but behind that were confusion and boredom. I recognized what was in the orbs because I had felt them within myself many times. I was slightly curious about the last two--why were they almost as physically evident as the feelings inside of me? I would stare at these two circles moving around, they were so fascinating and amazing and colorful. I declared them my favorite object within the square, even after others kept materializing.
The rest of the force came into view over time (I still didn't know how to keep track of it) and eventually I saw a whole object.
Except, this object was different.
It could move like me.
It could make noises like me.
And it most certainly looked like me.