Question

It is the year 16A5.

I am Stephen . I was born and raised in a whorehouse, I ran away when I was fourteen.
Albert Einstein had picked me up from the streets when I reached fifteen. I used to work under him as his apprentice for a few years, until he died in 15A4.

This is not a story about me. This is a story about a question.

The question.

Our lives as living beings are all circled around this particular question. This is a story about a question. The question which nobody has ever asked, which nobody has ever answered.

Although you as a reader are part of this question, but not I. I am here to answer, not to question. To question is a sin for me.

"Young, old, the weak, the bold,
have always lived together,
But tides of life, of new and old
have enlightened the observer.

Nor does he question, nor does he will,
His calm his only weapon,
But the ballads of silence have lumbered still,
To keep his heirs one."

-The Sermon at the Hill, Jensus Criest