After many years,something else- a strange Thing-appeared in the darkness.
The Thing was round,and brown, and red. Something reached out and held it, but it slowly turned to nothing but dust and ashes, and Something and Other became bored.
However,eventually a new ball-that was what the two had decided to call the Thing-, identical to what the first was originally like, appeared. Other held it, and the ball lasted longer, but it soon became completely brown, and then turned grey and dusty. After several thousand years,yet another appeared. Other and Something took turns holding the new ball, and the brown turned to green, and the red turned to blue.
One thousand years passed, and Something wondered if It was alone.
Finally,They received a response.
Yes.I am Here.A thought, carried by Nothing to Something.
Something did not reply,Who are you?,Because the concept of Who had not been created.Instead, Something walked across the Nothing and found an Other being. And for a time, the two were happy.
In the beginning there were two-the dark Other, and the shining Something,separated by endless Nothing. The only things were the light and the darkness.
For five thousand years, both were content, sitting by themselves and never moving.
Finally, Something thought.
Is there anyone else out there? Would be the best translation, although language had not yet been created, and so it was more like some eldritch,incomprehensible form of binary.
I’m just sitting here staring at the photograph and I can't stop grinning.
It’s me and you and Vince out in the woods.
Vince’s making bunny ears at us and you’re laughing at some stupid joke I told you and I’m leaning over to touch Vince’s back to try and ***** him.
I took the photo out of the bag half an hour ago. It’s four in the morning.
I don’t care. I’m gonna keep looking at this little piece of frozen heaven before I fall asleep.
Inspired from something on the site everything2 that I can no longer find
Do you remember
When we were birds
We sang sweet songs of our love for each other
But then the song
Became just squawks
And preening became another task, and then
How it became pluck the others feathers out
How it became see how long we could go without wincing in pain
A contest of which could be more miserable
Who could hate the other more without showing it
And when we had no more feathers left to pluck
each of us having finally bested the other-
Like Icarus, in spiteful triumph-
-Turning rapidly into horror-
(What had we done
How could we have ever enjoyed this)
-And finally, we drowned.
No. I refuse to let the darkness and futility break me.
I am going to be kind, even though it doesn’t seem to do anything.
I am going to be happy, even though I have no reason to.
Hope is spitting in the face of the world and saying I am not going to let you break me and grinning at it through your bleeding face viciously spitefully victoriously alive.
Do not say I am kind because of my sorrows, for that is false.
Do not say I am kind because I am weak, for that is the polar opposite of correct.
I am kind because I choose to be, and I am smart enough and strong enough to know that just because I may have an excuse to be cruel does not mean I am allowed to be.