“Have you ever felt alone? Have you ever reached out for help or even dared for happiness but always missed? You seemed so close. The tips of your fingers were almost touching and feeling the heat radiating from it; yet, it was still out of reach. You cry.
‘What makes you cry at night? Tell me! How is it possible for something not physical to penetrate within your heart and prevail over any shield you may use?
‘Are you scared of life—of living? I am. Never before has a being felt so helpless — imprisoned within a body that rejected me. I have no ‘real body’ now; but yet, I. Still. Feel. Pain . . . Help me.”
Sand in an hourglass falls and piles upon itself as time passes. The hourglass is set upon its side. The sand is still in a place lacking time—a place where the sun never rises nor sets but hangs at noon throughout eternity. It is a place of no escape. Tall, dark, unclimbable, cliffs guard its boundaries. The land is flat and parched with not a tree nor structure. Nothing else was ever visible there save a small black figure all alone.
Imagine now a perfectly square room filled with people who each held a knife to their own throat. The door is locked from the outside. There is no escape. Each person is on the brink of committing suicide. They go on and on wandering the perimeter of that room—never stopping—“MUST KEEP GOING!” Each is invisible to the other. Through each individual’s eyes, they are the only person in the room. They are all alone and consumed in their hate and misery of life: of being in that room . . . That is how it is in the wasteland without time where the small black figure wandered.
The figure stumbled along like a black speck in a sea of white. It hid itself from the sun by wrapping itself in a gigantic black cloth that went over its hairless head. Two dazed, snakelike eyes, sickly yellow and bloodshot, peered out from within. Its skin was white and translucent. The Creature chanted a low solemn tune with lyrics of a forbidden tongue. It stretched out its white, bony arm bringing its empty hand close to itself while spreading out its long gnarled fingers. The Creature looked at the hand and spoke as if to the hand. It started to make a fist with that hand and drove its long, cracked fingernails into the palm. Pools of blood sprung up around its fingers. The chant went on even louder than before until a single drop fell from the hand. The Creature sprang back and ceased to speak as it watched the drop fall slowly to the ground. Just before it hit the ground, it hardened into a jewel. It was the Stone.
The Stone fell to the ground. Dust rolled back in clouds. The sound of its fall rang through the speechless air. The Stone looked as if a golden flame flickered within it. Several rings of red pulsated like a heart beating around it as it lay on the cracked, white ground. The Creature dared not to move. It stood cod fished at the sight of the Stone. Finally, it mustered the courage to reach out. The tips of the Creature’s fingers melted at the touch of the glassy smooth surface. The aroma of burning flesh could be smelt, and the soft sizzle could be heard; however, the Creature took no notice. It stood there gazing in awe of its creation. A sort of smile formed on that hideous face. Tears filled its rather large eyes. That smile of pointy spaced teeth evolved into a laugh as it jumped up and down in celebration of its creation . . . if only it knew what future the Stone had entailed along with it.