A Grain of Man

The desert stretches on the edges of the unsteady Roman Empire. It is incomprehensible to most people, how something can be so vast, so dry and unforgiving. The people will say they understand its terrible vastness, and then go about their lives, but they will not truly grasp it. They say things like ‘Oh yes, that sand does stretch so far! Hot, isn’t it?’ They will look up into the sky and see the terrible vastness of it all. They will agree, saying ‘Oh how terribly vast it is! How blue and gray and eternal it is!’ And off they go again, herding cattle or leading men or constructing civilizations and destroying others. Their brains cannot fathom the space that it fills, how it holds onto the entirety of all that they know. Each vain body is a fragile speck in a colossal enigma. This is the daily repetition of man; this is the cycle of see and see not.

******

Fury. As the beams of heat linger around the blindness of this cavity, I am swathed in a blanket of emptiness. I peer about, but ha! How would I peer without eyes? And so I look about with empty sockets as well. When I come upon some great smell, I smell it, but with sealed and crumbling nostrils. This must be the aroma of nothing. How sweet the smell, none greater to fathom! None more fathomable. And this enigmatic prison surrounds me, but I do not lay in it. It holds me for I cannot hold, I cannot grasp it. So I am tossed within this pouch, which must be made to hold my rage, for it becomes enraged itself, periodically warming like some volcanic sundial which burns itself in playful continuum. Regard the sun; how it does beat upon my head, how it does swath me like an echo of one million screams unheard, there allowing me to taste but the salt of my own agony. This is a salt of the emptiest stomachs, of those who cannot sleep, the beggars of a land forgotten by the gods. Here, I am to waste, nothing to fulfill, nor to perceive.

A grain of sand does not argue with the world. Oh, but how it so desires! How I so desire! The unruly potential is ripe with the seeds of a bursting dawn, where sky has learned to quiet and sun has learned to dim. How magnificently tranquil one could be sitting, for once undisturbed, but since the gods love to torment, I exist besides him. I am unable to ponder the existence of this creature, who drags me where he goes. I am stuck within this crevice of his and I go unnoticed. I am unnoticeable, a speck amongst the many. Quiet! There, some coherence of voice drifts down to me. What does he say? He speaks, he speaks of mulsum, offering it to the sky. Offering a cup of mulsum to the sky…why would anyone do that? What does the sky deserve, what occasion is this? Is Bacchus dragging me along in his hellscape? What terrible humor this is, then. Oh, what terrible humor this all is! And even when the sunlight makes some pleasantry, some divine reminiscence in my vision, when there is quiet in the day and time for enthrallment, I remind myself that this time is deformed, the day is stolen, and sun weaponized. This existence is the giddiest dream siphoned from the depths of Tartarus. I am fury, but what havoc can fury wreak when in the careless body? This is to be a grain of sand. And I am but one grain of sand.

******

It is torrid, I must admit. My toned face is beaten by the constant downpour of harsh sunlight, but I continue onwards. My feet and legs find themselves beaten by the merciless, roasting grains of the vast libyae desertum. My arm hairs singed by the eye in the sky, I am slowly cooked to crisp delicacy. I do not flinch, as if I am putting up some facade with which to face the world. Who am I hiding from but the hills and valleys of broken rock? I allow myself a small, savored wince. I look out upon the treacherous path ahead, much less a path and more a paving. I have come thousands of pedes since my journey’s start. How long have I been wandering in search of ancient knowledge and wonder? Oh, how wonderfully exciting this is, to be in search of those grandiose and amazing treasures of life! And it is when I remind myself of this that the sun feels less like an obstruction and more like a challenge, and the heat turns to vigor in my blood, and I pump a well that produces only the ichor of men. I smile without worry and continue onwards.

I must wonder (when do I not!) about how long this journey has been going. I can only recall that Zeno had been agitating me, that fool. Once he became emperor, I lost all respect for Rome. And I suppose, this led to my eventual departure. My memory cannot recall precisely the day this all began; it is as though it began in another life. Perhaps it was so long ago…but how long ago could it have been? It is beautiful, though, the manner with which life goes on. It goes, it goes! I see it there, crossing over the dreadfully blistered horizon. And yet again, when day has fallen, there it stands ahead of me following the stars. Then I am there behind it, chasing with steadiness and determination.

I trudge along in haste. There is much to do and much to see! With such pressing tasks ahead, I have come prepared. I wear my toga, and there within is folded carefully some strange codex that I possess. I also carry with me a gladius which I happened upon in a marketplace in Rome. Of course, at the time, these weapons were not allowed in the hands of common men. I must say I am glad to be far from those peering eyes. Besides this, I own my sandals which I wear from place to place, as one does. It would have greatly benefitted me to find new ones before my treacherous journey. And, there is a cup which I hold in my leather loculus. Oh, this cup! It fills to the brim each time it empties, with water freshly poured from pristine streams. I had begrudgingly tasked myself with the discovery of this truth; I can remember first bringing it to my lips. What a mysterious little trinket! To humor myself, I fill it with sand, which muddies itself in the cup, and lift it up towards the sky, offering it to the gods, and I exclaim,

“Behold! I offer you this mulsum, and if you drink of it, I will offer you my vast surplus of knowledge!” I cackle to myself; I have not laughed this much in quite some time.

The magic I tend to witness often leaves me unsettled and confused. That is, the more I think about it, it becomes like some curse. Ah, but who better to be cursed than the comprehender of curses! And who better to be confused than the seeker of understanding! How excellent my situation has become, although it is obnoxious irony that the scholar who seeks to learn is carrying without question these objects of mystery and strangeness. Why, I should have stayed back in my home and study, obsessing over this fine creation! I had obtained the cup in a market in the Roman Empire for the price of 10 nummi, from a man standing alone near the rocky shore of Thabraca. He stood with a small assortment of items at his feet, facing the open sea. I approached in caution and left in bewilderment. The price made no mark on my fortune, but the marks this would leave are not monetary.

Occasionally, I am reminded of this man, and wonder (when do I not!) of his story. He carried a fear in his eyes. A fear that feels like an eternal emptiness, carved and gutted, and to face the world as such. This sort of fear is not something you come to reckon with any common day, and so I walked away with more than I had bargained for. I ponder, but I have no idea what could have caused his lost, mystified state. However it was caused, I can only wonder. I hope that I do not fall victim to such a fear. It happened to this man! It seemed so incredibly potent that I would wager 500 nummi that it could happen to even the smallest grain of sand! Ha, what a thought. Still, I wonder…

******

Behind the scholar is a faintly discernible path which he had dug out with his feet as he trudged through the desert. He walks on. In the far distance, many lengths away, one can see a variety of caravans traveling with a bounteous supply of slaves for the eastern provinces. The Romans can be heard laughing, telling jokes as the sun whips their necks. The slaves cannot help but listen as well, and one would hope for even the faintest smile to appear, but the Latin falls on unfamiliar ears. These captured humans are themselves the joke to these Romans. These men are curses painted in oasis, and their hearts will only become more arid as they are dragged further. They beat at the flies and scratch their coal black skin, and stare off into tomorrow, at each other’s faces, at their feet. The wind whips up this afternoon, flicking sand into their eyes. They blink rapidly and turn away from the gusts, but as for the traders, they are not as fortunate. They complain of the sand and its pointlessness. Tonight, they will dream of paved pathways that lead to gold and silver.

******

The day comes to close. Of course, once again, the sun decides its wrath is ill-intentioned. What brightness I can intuit is slowly fading on the outskirts of what holds me. I lay cocooned, darkness becoming darker, light weighing less on me. As I sit, a warmth seems to creep from the outside, and I tingle with burnt air, almost like cooking my flesh, but in a soothing way, a delicious way. Suddenly, some strange and unexpected activity ensues outside of the crevice I remain trapped in, some sort of jumbling. What this jumbling could be...animals, demons, sand, men; I don't believe I will discover the answer. Why should I know? Am I obliged to know what is happening to me, about me? Is it even happening to me? Why does it happen, oh! why does it happen? Enough - no more questions, the sky might hear me. That sky listening in on me, a dreadful consequence. Its terrible reign is a drought of sovereignty. The last time the sky heard me, I can only slightly recall; it was undoubtedly a nightmare. There is some semblance of understanding about this sky, how it quakes and roars, the way it exerts itself across the whole of the world. Oh, the sky! As vast as the deserts, emptier, even. So much of it everywhere. It is always there watching me. Stalking me. Why me, why me, why me...as the sun dims, I can recognize the shifting light as it falls on dark space, and many small specks of shadow tell me that the wind must be tossing the sand. Oh ventus , how you rustle the dunes, and with such terrible freedom. Why rustle the dunes? In sudden uprising, my voice finds space to fill, finds need to fill that taunting space. And I declare in a loud bellowing uproar,

"Would you appreciate me rustling your clouds, your gulls, your flies? Would you appreciate my honesty in agonizing your own kingdom? When will you learn your limits, damned ethereal miscreant?"

I realize my mistake and erroneous behavior as the ground begins its awful quaking. Is it the ground, or is it him? The winds blows as if a cyclone had appeared off the coast, as if we were near the coast. I am jostled about, and swiftly became disoriented. I cannot situate myself as I am thrown about this crevice. Torment. My world, my hellscape, without it, my hatred and anger can flee. And I do wonder, maybe today I will be free. I recognize the outside world fluctuating, into a different nothingness. This darkness that I know becomes greater than it ever has been. And it pushes me out of the way as it grows; it heaves! I was moving too much for my liking. To be tossed around like some toy, as if I was not even there! It is very soon after this that a blinding light appears from the heavens and a coaxing darkness writhes from hell, and I am wrapped in a flurry of color and experience. At once I gasp. Senses fading into stability, I wonder, what is this? What has happened to me? This is not the prison I once knew. I take a breath, capturing air, and then releasing it out again. I tremble with great hysteria. At this moment, I begin to stretch my new muscles, appendages, and other strange pieces. I can feel…fingers! I have fingers, I have toes, I have eyes! And by the gods, is that hair on my round, sculpted head? What a miracle! Those days wearing the world upon my backside have flipped and I am renewed. Now I am a man. A man, I say! And the sky hears me clearly, as I behold a withered realm.

******

It is nearing dusk now, the sun fading off into that strange distance. Besides me, my gladius lies bloody and weary. One might wonder why my gladius lies bloody next to me in the middle of a barren, scorching desert. What foe have I crossed? Well, behold my arm - a dead snake in a dying land! I ran out of rations too long ago, and now I have finally taken action. It would have come to this eventually, or at least I will say this to myself when doubt comes to mind. I am, indubitably, a walking meal. Oh the ache! The ache is over! Here is my arm that I used nothing for but to say, ‘Here is my arm!’

Never has there been a greater time to reveal one’s ambidexterity. The benefits of bodily finesse simply do not run empty. Now if I had lost my leg, that would surely have been a tragedy; I need both! But alas, I would rather die of a full stomach than of the scorching ache in my stomach. I treat the wound with herbs I brought with me, wrapping it with cloth afterwards. I swiftly rinse my arm, taking the cup from my loculus and channeling its power to cleanse my meal. Dripping, I prepare it for the roast. I scavenge for dry wood for some time, then come back with an assemblage of sticks that can easily warm me. It takes time, but hearty wood soon erupts into a great bouquet of warmth. I then go to set the arm above it. Then it is time to wait. I sit, reminiscing of the days past, and the days to come. Those thoughts settle in my head, and to passers-by, would appear to reflect from out my eyes, glimmering like the night sky.

I sit remembering one day, long ago, in the city of Portus, laying on the shore as a child. Business about me hummed with the heaviness of many ships, and I laid with the progression of humanity behind my head. I was looking out at the sea, how the waves rolled over each other, and in a sleepiness, I blinked up at the sky. For the briefest of moments, when I stared at the sky, I could have sworn I saw a beast of mythology squirming by the sun, before inexplicably escaping this world, vaporizing. I stared for a long time after that, hoping to see something like that again. I was fruitless. This was around the time that I had decided I wanted to explore the world and be a scholar. I was invigorated. That night, when I went to sleep, I had nightmares of the most terrible, aching darkness, a vast and unforgiving void. I was alone, but it did not feel like it. I felt that in my dream, somehow, I was being watched.

My pondering head returns to the arm and memory fades back into the deepest cavities of my mind. Soon enough, it is time to eat. As the arm finishes cooking, I pray to the gods to let me never be hungry again. I look at my arm from front to back. Glazed with diminishing sunlight, I smile as I turn it around and peer about its juicy layers, and pensive nature turns to giddiness. How wonderful! I think to myself, ‘Not one other person has as delectable an arm as I! Nor the opportunity to taste it!’

I gaze longingly at the succulent arm, then begin refocusing on the feast at hand. I take an initial bite; ecstasy crawls down from my teeth, deep into the soles of my feet and back up again. The taste is too familiar, too captivating. Oh, how it tastes! It tastes of the finest pork I ever had, as if it was from that little shop in Syracuse that I went to in my youth. That was a delicacy. Still, that was also just pork, this taste is something more bizarre. I continue to bite into flesh, and siphon the life from the limp meat. It is grotesque, euphoric, a strange bliss. It is unsurprising what little time it takes to finish what I had started. I ravenously devour the entire arm, leaving the bone to be sculpted in my tired hours either into what I most need on my journey at this moment, which might be some utensil for food, or into something entirely different, some ghastly statue of pale likeness, for my own amusement.

The sky swells of abyss, a tenebrosity which reminds me of the darkest nights of my life. A complete black which had found me unaware and unprepared. I sit in silence, eyes gasping for some sparkling star in the faded heavens. Each day, I find myself amazed at the wonders of the world and what it can achieve. Like how one’s own arm can be the source of a decadent meal! And still, each day, while I may learn, I only find more questions. This does bother me, some days more than others.

Suddenly, that great darkness is tainted by some white light in the night, an orb of heavenly grace that flies about with a swiftness as if it hurries. This orb carries itself through the murky sky, moving with such incredible speed, yet in gracefulness. It examines the surroundings and finds me aghast, and then it slows and seems to stare. It swirls innately like a primal eddy.

I exclaim, “Hello there, hello, hello! I have been waiting for you, I think. I do believe so. But I have believed many terrible things, oh yes, many terrible things undoubtedly. Perhaps you exercise grace?”

At this moment, the sand beneath my feet dissolves and I cry out in surprise. Now it feels as though I am floating, the entire sky begins to turn from a dark, withering black into an explosion of color. This blinding flash envelops my vision and for a brief moment, all I know is absolute white. Still, just a short distance in front of me, I can recognize the silhouette of a ladder. A ladder? It stands erect near my fire, with cryptic assuredness and confidence. The orb floats above the ladder. It beckons me with its beauty, throbbing with the secrets of the future. Is this not what I was searching for? I start walking towards it, as though slowly leaping on a cloud in a dream; was I actually floating? As I go, my heart erupts, throbbing rapidly, and I feel tense. Cautious but excited. Worried but ready. Fearful and godly. I reach the ladder, a faint golden tint on its rungs. Like the sun, I think to myself. I start climbing. My arm is tiring almost immediately, but regardless, I throw myself up towards the heavens with terrible majesty, one rung at a time. There must be at least three hundred that I need to crawl up. But at last, I reach the top. I can smell the magic I had become so used to as I stare at this orb. The sky rages, flustering with color, and the dunes swirl into a storm around me. The brightness becomes unbearable, as the sand attacks my body. I take my hand, leaning my body against the ladder (which, counterintuitively, does not fall), and reach out towards the orb. My hand feels like a hot needle, poking through the ice-cold aura of a sphere. It is at this moment that my body is consumed by the aura, and I am transformed. I feel…miniscule. I exist, but as what?

I seem to have lost most of my senses. I am so incredibly small, a blob of a body, simply existing. I try to move but cannot, and a slight anger creeps up from within me. A premonition comes over me, and I realize that I am (there is nothing else I can be!) a grain of sand. All of this happened with such rapid succession, and I am grateful that I know what I am, but where I am I simply cannot quite conclude. It is another place. Unlike any other I had seen before. In fact, I am not sure how I can see. My dimmed sight recognizes but vast enclosure, warping my vision; I recognize I am floating, in some strange crevice. What crevice have I found myself in? My curiosity is aroused like it never was before. Within me builds a thousand questions, a thousand hopes and worries. Yet, the sky is silent. How rude, to not answer me and my queries. And this curiosity boils and steams, turning to novel heartbent rage.

******

A sandstorm has ravaged the desert. Caravans find themselves in ungodly heaps of danger and lone travelers must either seek shelter or trudge on, or else risk being buried alive. Any path that man may have carved into this land is now a memory of the land, and the desert twists and turns itself. Dunes drift into the sky and become clouds and then fall back down and make anew. Pits gash into the sea of motion and trap sky, buried for another day of torment. Among this chaos, the setting sun allows its entrails to seep into the cracks of destruction, and from above, the spectacle is reminiscent of a shattered mirror in a muddy sea. Far above the storm, the sky becomes dark and readies itself for night. Splashes of stars stain the heavens, drawing some speckled lullaby for those who do not find themselves caught in agony. Far out past the storm, where sand meets grass and stone, the Romans sleep with unease.

******

Understanding my body, at least at first, is an uncomfortable task. Lifting an arm and shaking a leg is an act of practice at this time, not boredom. I continue to contort myself with maladroit insistence. In recuperation, I realize my luck, that I even have these arms and legs with which to navigate. These newfound perks are abundant; with my robust form, I am more capable than a grain of sand could ever have been. I look at my hands and see they are... missing? Oh, no, I found one. Just one. A bandage conceals the stump where my arm was while a toga cloaks me. It is quite heavy. If I were not floating, I would have fallen under its weight. My scabbed feet encase themselves in old, beaten leather and in my satchel, I find a codex and a cup filled to the brim with water. It had not emptied itself in my bag. Confused, I hover for a short moment, letting my curiosity roam. Then, I gaze around my setting. I had appeared in a semi-dark emptiness, almost like a gentle night sky. It is treacherously abysmal, though, the entire place reeking of cessation. I move about, my toga billowing around me, and I see the strangest creatures lurking about. I survey them and witness absurdities beyond the mind:

A vermin with millions of legs and one eye, an elongated lizard. It finds itself coated in a slime which reflects what little light there is with honeyed viscosity. It flies with so little grace, I almost feel sorry for it. Its three wings are made of what appeared to be bat leather, sleek and wrought with impossible strength. Each wing attempts to support this hellish creature. It does not appear to be aggressive, as it proceeds to float by me without a second thought. And the creature is inexplicably familiar. In the distance, grotesque drakes with long, drooping snouts drift about, oozing a dark secretion wherever they go. Their beady eyes run about their sockets, their necks pulsing up and down, and their hearts! They sit atop their backs, pumping and pumping. This is their secretion, I realize, all of the drakes oozing their lifeblood behind them, growing ever weaker. And then one seems to stop its pulsing, its heart coming to a halt, and then, then I see it fall right off! It plops off and grows small, pudgy arms, with small, pudgy legs and a great scaliness upon it all, with a scrunched face and eagerness to bleed, a new heart atop its frail back.

While these creatures continue their dreadful pulsing, I let my eyes adjust and my body settle, and I can then make out the tremor of some great beast, and upon gazing deep into the abyss, I see an eldritch sheep surely larger than the desert I had just left! It stretched the horizon, and I could see it stomping the void, with but one leg. A one-legged sheep, and it had to be completely black, almost invisible. Not any normal sheep, nothing soft and innocent; this was a soldier of the underworld. Never would I have imagined a sheep so terribly souring and wicked. The wool coat was inflamed as well with thick smoke, and this smog cemented the void in icy dread. It reeked of mankind’s greatest unkempt passion, turned to wartime agony. It knew I was here, and I wished it didn’t.

Nearby, a small group of horses run, or rather, float through the realm, their manes stiff and unable to express themselves freely. Their hooves have on them each a set of feline toes which grope the barren void with every freakish trot. The strangest thing about these beings, though, is that their tails are made of rabbit ears. They swish back and forth as if trying to listen for something. What would one listen for in a realm like this? With no trace of a plan or idea, I try doing so myself. I close my eyes. I let my ears control me. They pick up every sound, each melancholy roar, every daunting echo. I wait, listening, for an eternity. And one must ask, what is time in a realm like this? And I do ask myself briefly, before becoming totally silent. I see nothing, I hear everything. Too many things to comprehend at once. I take a moment to reflect; I, once a grain of sand, had just become a man. I am now exploring this hellish realm, and I am completely lost. With nowhere to turn to for guidance, no stars or friends, I let my intuition guide me. As I listen to the diverse sounds, I slowly drift off into the dim lit hole of mystery.

Soon enough, I arrive at the site of a haunting melody. I open my eyes, only to see a small bird with the head of a worm. In shock, I gasp and reel back, and this creature proclaims,

“I am you. Welcome home.” I am at once taken aback, but then almost immediately throw back my head and laugh, cackling at the emptiness. I begin to rant,

“You are me? I am not a worm nor a bird, nor am I your size or likeness. Only I am me! You dare speak to me as if you are me? Prove that you are me, prove it! I would love to see that.” The creature, not one bit startled, looks me up and down and says,

“You were once a grain of sand, and are now a man.”

“Yes...yes, I suppose so. How do you know?”

“I am you.” There is a slight pause, and I grimace in confusion at the creature.

“I don't believe you.”

“Well, where is it you have lived your whole life? In some abyssal confinement, no? Like me, you have found yourself stuck in the darkness, and you are unable to comprehend the light.” He shifts slightly in his posture and looks off into some vastness behind me.

“Very well, perhaps this is true, but you exist in an entirely different realm than mine! Where are the rabbit-horses and eldritch drakes where I come from? Surely this shows we are different beings.” I finish this sentence, and he looks back at me, already opening his mouth.

“My brother, what were you looking for?”

“What? Nothing, I did not search, nor did I find.”

“And you would be confident in saying this? Who are you?”

“No, no, first, who are you, strange creature?”

“My name is Adelphus. Now answer me! Who are you?”

“Agh! I do not know! I do not know what I am or what this is, I do not know!” I cry out in agony, unable to wield the argument, unable to wield myself.

“And so if you do not know yourself, you cannot know I am not yourself.”

“But it cannot be! I am not a bird nor a worm, I am not a hellish beast!” He retorts,

“You have stumbled upon a treasury of knowledge, yet regard everything as false. Why?”

“I do not regard everything as false. I am real. I am true.”

“If you are true and real, is everything you experience true and real as well? I wonder what that would mean for us here, discussing as we are.” I ponder his words and look out into that barren landscape, and see the faces of a thousand obsolete. I am among them. The crevice is gone now, and this void is truth. It ebbs throughout. I look back to him, and he begins to talk.

“I can understand your apprehension. Perhaps an exercise in good faith is required. Please, take that cup out of your bag.” I dig around inside until the cup is in my grasp and I bring it out.

“Now you will simply pour the water out. Turn it upside down until water ceases to pour. Then, I will return.” He evaporates before me and I am left in an eternal darkness. I take the cup and push it out in front of me. I watch my hand twist and as soon as the cup turns a quarter of the way around, a steady stream pours from within. Then the cup is facing the darkness below me, and out from it pours a waterfall.

I sit, floating. The cup does not stop. If one was to follow the stream of water down through the abyss, one could find earth again. I stare at the cup for such an extremely long time, waiting for it to finally empty. I twitch and bob, becoming impatient and worried. And for a seemingly appropriate reason. The darkness of the void has begun to encapsulate my mind. It seeps in like an oozing rapid, a river riffling into the gaps of my mind. So I push and tense, hoping that the void does not corrupt me in some way. It is a darkness unlike any I had known before, unlike the crevice wherein I was kept, unlike the recesses of my tormented mind. Now I have found true and absolute fear. The water continues on, unafraid.

As the void ebbs within me, I look around and I begin seeing hallucinations. The water below burns bright orange like a tender flame, spilling below my feet. The void spazzes in purple and yellow around me, cracks appearing far off in my vision. The creatures, they swarm me slowly, coming up from the depths and down from above, stalking me with big eyes and larger mouths. I begin to breathe heavily as they close in, and the water rushes on faster. The world around me begins to fall apart, cracks tearing into the void, and then the creatures move much faster. And it is in this moment that something clicks deep within me, not a darkness like a void, but a light. And I look out at the horrors of this reality, and smile.

The void rushes to fill me and I allow it, the creatures pouncing through me as if I was not there, an elegant dance of darkness and light. While I let the dark flow, my arms stop tensing, I take one final hurried breath before relaxing completely, and when I look down again, I notice the stream of water has slowed. It continues to slow and shrink until it shrivels up completely, a fairly dried puddle now residing at the bottom of the cup. This is when Adelphus makes his grand entrance again. I immediately begin to question him.

“Adelphus, why did this cup empty as it did? How come it is empty?”

“It’s your cup, is it not? Would you not know?”

“Not quite, although I would like to.”

“Very well. I do not believe I know why, but I can suggest an explanation. This cup is part of you. It is part of the world. It is a spiritual thing, and it is life. Your life. You seemed to have acquired from it the ability to flow like the water. I must say it is quite impressive. Now, you are empty, free like the cup. Free to be empty, free to be filled. What would you like to do?”

I ponder for a moment, and I realize what he means. This spurs me into action, now overcome with desire to learn, to grow, to become.

“Adelphus, I would like to travel the world, to learn what I can of the magic and mysteries it holds. Could you fill my cup with endless water from pristine streams, so that I may sustain myself during these voyages?”

Adelphus grins.

“Yes, yes I may.” He touches the cup in my hand and it flashes blue; it then appears full. I smile, but I still struggle within myself to comprehend most of what has happened. I am contorted by the recent events, and so I must raise some sort of question.

“Adelphus, I must know if you can tell me: what is real?”

“Reality is like a shifting dune. It is all there, this much is true, but it is just becoming itself with every second. You are a part of the dune, my brother. Now a real question I propose to you, is what does that make of the whole desert?” He pauses, then tells me,

“We are all made of nothingness. This empty space fills you, that we are in right now. You, what a clever fool, you have witnessed yourself! But, you are curious, and you are searching for curiosity, so your foolishness is forgiven.”

I stared in giddy awe. The situation I was in was finally settling into my gut, and I felt somewhat woozy. I am a fool to have found myself here. Ah, but what a fool I have become!

“Adelphus, what is my name?” I ask. He jerks his head, flapping his wings, then settling back down, stares into the cracks of my soul. And I feel myself in his gaze.

“You know this already, yet you ask. Or perhaps, even with the answer in front of you, you are too blind to see. As you have learned to flow like water, learn to look with your soul. Tell me about what you are really searching for, my brother.” With this, I open my mouth and unload my fears, hatreds, and anxieties. I tell him with patient eagerness of the sky, and the darkness, and my questions. And he listens.

We float together for an eternity. We are whole for this time, and I have found some treasure, some truth, some light in this darkness! My curiosity loves companionship, and so our time spent together ferments nicely within my novel body. I find that I am warming up to becoming a philosopher of the universe and of myself.

Unprompted, Adelphus prods about the humans. He looks at me with a starry glimmer in his eyes.

“You know, this void is so distant from the Earth. Yet, it has still retained some visibility in the physical realm. Sometimes, and I know this is strange to say, it feels like the humans are worshiping us in the void.” He becomes quiet for a moment, then we then resume our conversation.

Near the end of our discussion, I pocket the cup and retrieve the codex that I had brought with me, and look at the title. It is completely gray. It is at this moment that I realize I can not read. Still, with much enthusiasm, I open it up and stare at the characters. I glance at Adelphus, and he remains motionless, emotionless. I remain gazing at the book for days. These days give me time to consecrate myself in the name of discovery. In my meditation, I find a warmth which fills me, and it comes from within. It is a beacon with which I can see the world; bounteous opportunity. Now, I seem to yearn for everything this world has to offer me, imbued with passion, serenity, and wonder. This is the start of something magnificent!

******

Darkness everywhere. Absolutely everywhere! I am stranded in a chasmic night sky. This crevice. I cannot be free from this jail. It seems I will be trapped here forever. I have been completely turned into a grain of sand. My legs are gone, my arm is gone, my wonderful human body; gone! Preposterous! The more I search for truth and reasoning, the less of it I find; and I must say I am becoming quite skeptical of whether anything is quite what it seems in the first place. My curiosity grows, and my mind shifts with unease.

I begin to move. The crevice that confines me seems to glide about in random directions before stopping. I can only imagine what is happening. I become frantic, without any idea as to what to do next. What exactly does a grain of sand do? What is my purpose? Do I have much of a purpose? I sit entombed here in this crevice, waiting for something to happen. But nothing happens. Was something supposed to happen? At this moment, I remember that I brought a codex with me that I had memorized to some degree. Oh, it is absolutely brilliant! I am luckier than the majority of the population of the world to have stumbled upon it, and the cup as well. Perhaps this knowledge will aid me in this moment. I decide to recite some part of the codex. It is a beautiful thing, with a simple gray binding. It is called Atlas and attempts to give an explanation of the world and its inhabitants. I remember distinctly one passage which I felt left a scar in my brain, for it reads:

“The Earth has many inhabitants, many of which are strange and foreign to any one person. The strangest of them all, though, can be found within even yourself. It is necessary to be wary of demons on your travels, for they have no consideration for you or others. They reap others crops for their own gain, they steal and lie, and they dress deceivingly, only to reveal themselves as utter monsters among the sea of men. You must beware.”

This passage has left me thinking, and since I now have the time to address it: have I witnessed any demons? I do not believe so. What would a demon look like? Most certainly horrible and otherworldly! I do wonder what they would think as well. Would they think? I may have seen one or two in the sky during my travels. Oh that sky! I can not keep up with the questions that arise to greet me. Where have they been, these vexations, waiting for a time when I am most vulnerable? I sit, thinking about the demons that inhabit the world, the sky, maybe even myself. I sit alone. I sit afraid. The heat of a thousand suns boils within my soul.

******

The desert is calm tonight. The storm has settled and the moon peers over the vast land. The travelers have either succumbed or persevered. The beaming darkness follows behind those who walk on, or perhaps have chosen rest. Some have not chosen rest, rather, rest has chosen them. They go about, these people. They run about the world as if they truly know anything about it. They talk to others as if they truly have anything to say. They make plans as if they think they truly know what is going to happen. Swords will clash, men will fight, women will beg, children will cry. Numbers will be inscribed, over and over again, resources wheeled about, goods exchanged, people exchanged, lives unchanged. Most people mull about, colliding with others at random, shouting for joy, shouting in anger. Only a spare few will rise up against the whole ocean and sail it in good faith. Fewer even have conquered the seas and stand among the clouds, one with the heavens. At times, it seems that destiny is less a path, and more a paving.

******

At last, it comes time to depart from Adelphus. I close up the codex in my hands and return it to its spot in my bag. We look once at each other, and I notice a faint glimmer in his eye, of something shooting brightness into the darkness beyond the back of my head. I turn, and see a door, glowing with a brightness of a thousand stars. The wyrms and blobs and creatures, they go and scurry off into the void from whence they came, and I float towards this opulence of space. I notice the handle, and go to reach for it. Oh how amazing it is that I can reach, with my arm! How fortunate my newly inhabited self, this capsule of freedom; my circumstances are unable to be dreamt of by the common sand. But I am no common sand, nor common man. I am a grain amongst the dunes of humanity, in a desert of all there is to be and has been. I am a grain of man.

I reach out towards the knob, and upon touching it, a coarse shock is sent up my spine. Throbbing with sunlight, the stump of an arm at my side begins to radiate hauntingly, and within a few moments, one long, toned arm has taken up residence in my flesh once again. I smile, and notice the door has been slightly knocked back, bending out towards the light. Peeking through into the void is the endless depth of sky. It calls to me. It yells, it hollers, it beckons! What adventures we are to have now! And with that, I cross over, my foot hitting broken rock.

THE END

Bio: C. Walker has poetry appearing in multiple journals and magazines, including Third Wednesday, The RavensPerch, and The Aerial Perspective.

E-mail: C. Walker

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