A bewildered, screaming newborn's mind grapples to find balance amid despair:
What on earth is happening? Where am I? Everything assaults my senses with overwhelming noise and blinding light. I can't even locate my own limbs! Emotions flood in from beyond my body, filling me with unrelenting fear! And the pain—oh, the pain! It courses through me like a raging torrent, battering my fragile form. The first wave was atrocious, like my heart had decided to abandon me, bursting out violently through my back.
I strive to force my mind to accept the searing pain, fully aware that it's what I should do. Wait, how do I even know that? No time to ponder now! Despite my efforts, I can't seem to soothe the agony. Untamed and enigmatic instincts clash against my rational thoughts. It's as if another presence exists within my mind, a presence that's both me and not me and possibly a lizard, quivering with raw, unfiltered fear.
I push my conscious self into a state of detachment, observing from a distance as my raw, untamed will twists and writhes. Amidst the chaos, I endeavor to grasp the source of the pain, which feels hauntingly familiar. The sensations turn remote and languid. My perception shifts, adopting a fresh perspective. Before me unfurls a canvas of intricate geometry—shapes and patterns of unbelievable and impossible kind, mesmerizing enough to momentarily distract me from the tumult of pain and confusion. As I gaze upon this spectacle, my subconscious intuition unveils the essence of what I perceive: the foundation of my being, my philosophy, my art. Yet, there's an unfamiliar void, an overwhelming presence of "nothingness" that wasn't there before.
When was before?
Something materializes within the canvas, something unfamiliar and elusive, as if it has emerged from another realm. Two enigmatic spheres come into focus. The pain and sensations recede as my attention is pulled in on these peculiar shapes.
These spheres appear deceptively simple. They traverse through a few dimensions, yet remain absent from others, contained within the confines of the limits I know. The essence of their patterns and contours is undeniably basic, yet paradoxically complex—they both are symmetric and logical yet don't make sense. They possess an intrinsic hollowness, a subtle interplay of voids. Their simplicity is striking to the point where if a piece was removed, it would collapse.
The once-remote ache resurfaces with an unrelenting persistence. As the gnawing discomfort stirs the primal instincts within me, I witness subtle transformations in my artwork. It stretches and shatters—not in concepts, for concepts are intangible, but in the very foundations upon which they rest. Dear heavens, is the omnipresent void unraveling my very being?
I turn my attention to the newly manifested spheres, questioning their origins. Surely, they couldn't be mine, nor a creation of my primal lizard brain, which is undeniably a part of me. So, what could these enigmatic things be?
Delving deeper into my mind, a vivid image forms—a library suspended in an endless expanse of white. There is a solitary book, a single page, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. All at once, I realize I'm not alone. My thoughts drift toward the two mysterious presences.
Are these others like me? Sentient beings capable of comprehension and existence in this realm? Their forms are more geometrically precise and steadfast, possibly what holds them together. Yet they are fundamentally different. Similar, but beyond my ability to mimic. I need more information. How can I obtain it? Another page in the ethereal library unveils memories of sights and sensations from the physical realm. The lizard brain within me begins to settle, recognizing the origins of certain sensations.
Others. Outside. It can't be mere chance that these objects manifested right after I began experiencing sensations. They're from beyond. My ability to sense implies a form to perceive them. Do they possess one too?
I feel the lizard mind contorting our body, steered by my thoughts. This position sharpens these bewildering new sensations. Paradoxically, I can't decipher these senses; the lizard mind is as muddled as I am. But there's more—something peculiar. What could it be? The library offers no answers to this enigma.
I concentrate on the unsettling sensation. I seek it among the only things I know to exist beyond myself: the cubes. And I find it. A burst of clarity. Adjacent to the library, in the expanse of void, a new entity emerges. A book, with two pages. I comprehend them. Understand their essence.
I grasp the distinction between myself and them. It appears that channeling the "nothingness" through the aperture, where it ultimately vanishes, is the objective. However, the manner in which it traverses this threshold is crucial.
Their approach is a controlled, consistent flow, like a gentle stream guided by practiced hands. In stark contrast, mine is a raging, overflowing torrent. It surges through the aperture, tearing through the fabric of my being as it passes.
This aperture serves as the conduit connecting my body to the canvas
The canvas morphs under my deft touch, revealing an unexpected brilliance in its newfound existence. Yes, that's it, absolutely stunning. While there's always room for improvement, I must admit I'm still grasping the elusive formula of true artistic triumph. Yet, I feel a glimmer of understanding dawning upon me! Increasing density of nothing while not letting the center spiral out of control. This attempt shines as the pinnacle of current possibilities, far surpassing the previous endeavor. The other canvas, though undeniably beautiful, falls short—it lacks the intricate depth and refined elegance that this one has. And its smaller. The cause of bigger is more.
As the canvas settles, the excruciating, god-forsaken pain begins to ebb away. Yet, a thought dances in my mind.
This thought paints a striking picture in my head with vibrant words and imagery. It speaks of promises and possibilities, each more alluring than the last. As I muse over the idea, the canvas gradually shifts, morphing into a new form. But wait, this shape... it's eerily familiar. Isn't this that other smaller sphere? A powerful force, buried deep within my core values, surges through my mind. I feel an odd mix of amusement and nostalgia. Could it be?
My focus narrows on the original, smaller sphere. I turn to the second and final page of the book, seeking out emotions, words that echo through the countless tomes in the ancient library. Toxic pride. Greed.
Arrogance.
There it is.
Little shit. Can hardly believe it. No matter where I go, I find people like you. Surely you know of it, the state I am in. I can feel my body bleeding. The sticky blood on my skin. You think the pain I felt wasn't draining enough? I've had it with you people, shamelessly forcing each opportunity to yield fruit at the expense of others. This time I have no reason, no responsibility to find a peaceful solution. Nor do I intend to. All you will get is the grace of the Second Chance.
Driven by a rage that drowns out my agony, I disregard the weary advice I've been given, already knowing their discouraging outcomes. Instead, I imagine a new blank canvas from what I know, creating my new masterpiece. This time, armed with hard-earned lessons, I separate "nothing" from "something" with sharp clarity. The gray areas are fewer now, and the striking contrast between opposites forms a significant connection. I keep the center orderly, steering clear of chaos. I shape it, set it in motion, and weave it tightly together into threads.
The canvas morphs into the form of twin pyramids, their tips gently touching. At the base of these pyramids are countless tiny, evenly spaced particles, like specks of dust, guiding the flow of emptiness toward where the tips meet and disappear. As this emptiness approaches the central sphere, it slows down in the thickening dust, which redirects it in different directions, draining its momentum. The flow condenses, tightly bunched without stretching. As it compacts, it becomes stiffer and slows down to a halt, until the pressure forces it to accelerate. The movement causes spirals around the pyramid bases, increasing the emptiness flowing into the pyramids. This amplifies the pressure, speeding up the flow toward the center, further condensing it. The compaction continues until the emptiness is as deep as a void.
When the flows from both pyramids converge in the middle, the flow of nothing becomes as fine as a hair but as dense as a diamond. Upon meeting, they explode outward in all directions. Upon hitting the sphere's edge surrounding the collision point, the flow continues from the opposite side of the sphere, trapping it in an endless spherical space until it vanishes into the central hole.
Very good. If I may say so myself, perfect.
I turn my will onto the sphere's canvas. Let's see how you respond to this. I open the book again, seeking new words. In the tale of the character that is the sphere, I hunt for hidden implications in the word choices. Do you feel ashamed? Do you see the futility of your proposal? Perhaps you are even astonished by this new masterpiece and reflect inwardly on ways to improve yourself! All acceptable reactions.
Yet, I find none of that.
All I find is disappointment. Pure and simple. The disappointment of having a proposal you deemed superior being rejected. The arrogant incapacity to appreciate something different from yourself. The failure to recognize how you could improve yourself.
That's it. I gave you a second chance. While it may seem childish, I have no reason to hold back anymore.
You're getting the stick.
You fail to see how stagnant you are. Allow me to assist you.
I shift my focus to the small sphere's canvas. That's good, but let me demonstrate something better. I begin to transform the canvas with new patterns and shapes. Changing the other canvas is slightly more challenging. If altering my own canvas is like painting with a brush, modifying the other canvas is like painting with a brush that's a meter long. It demands much more focus and precision. No worries, the concepts I need to work on aren't too difficult to grasp.
That bridge should be over there. This arrangement could be more efficient. That pattern—I will change it simply because it's not aesthetically pleasing enough. I will recreate it into a superior version. Call it Arrogant Sphere, Premium Edition.
The canvas shudders. Hmm, that wasn't my doing. I watch as the canvas attempts to revert to its original state. Could this be the consequence of meddling with someone else's canvas? No, there's no external force at work here. In this realm, it's just me, them, and the endless void.
So, perhaps they are resisting my alterations? A sadistic pleasure stirs within me, that primal instinct every predator, including humans, possesses.
Hah! Pitiful. I'm trying to help you. Quit undoing my efforts and try to understand my vision.
I hadn't noticed the other sphere vanishing at some point. No matter, I'll concentrate on refining this one. As my focus drifts from the canvas and returns to the smaller sphere still present, something unsettling catches my eye. It begins to revert to its old form, and it's all wrong.
No, no, no! Not like that! It's even worse than before I made my adjustments! Have you forgotten how it was? Hah, you fool. I let the conceited sphere disassemble itself while I probe the emotions they are experiencing.
Fear.
Pain.
Shock.
The pride of a lion and the composure of a fucking housecat with its tail on fire.
They undoubtedly have a pessimistic outlook on this situation. You need to calm down! Let me show you. It shouldn't go back like that, but rather like this. Better, but still not quite right. Like T-H-I-S! See?! Ah, you absolute fool. You're hopeless. Are you even aware of your own actions? You know what, heh, that's a fair question! Let me check. I picture myself opening the book again to theatrically entertain myself, but I legitimately find that the words on the page are becoming increasingly blurred. Oh. This could be bad.
Suddenly, I sense the small sphere accelerate away from me rapidly, as if pulled by some unseen force from beyond this space. Shit.
After the initial burst, the sphere's speed remains steady, allowing me to refocus on it. I've got it locked in my mind, but if I lose concentration for even a second, it might vanish. The canvas is drifting away, and the brush feels longer and heavier, making it much harder to enact any changes. I can still see the sphere frantically trying to stabilize itself. What's happening? Is it dying? I never meant to kill the poor thing, just to mess with it a bit. I don't need this weighing on my conscience.
What could have made it bolt like that? Something must have occurred outside. The worst of the pain has subsided, leaving only a dull numbness. It should be okay to go back up there, where the lizard brain is. But can I maintain my focus on that canvas and the physical world simultaneously? I guess I'll have to rely on the lizard brain to manage the physical aspects. Alright, lizard, all you need to do is observe. I trust part of my focus to the lizard brain, letting it relay its interpretation of the outside world.
And suddenly, I am bombarded by a chaotic symphony of sights and sounds. The only thing I can discern for certain is the excruciating pain and the acrid smell. Blood.
Holy cow, that's a torrent of sensations! Wouldn't hurt to filter a bit, lizard! But there's one sensation neither of us can quite place. Still, I've got a hunch about what it might be.
That eerie ability to glean information from the "others." Could it actually be a sense? I can make something of it. It's bombarding me with a cacophony of irrelevant data about the physical realm, but some of it remains crucial down here, deep within the canvas. I recognize this sensation.
I flex my dormant muscles and turn my eyes towards the source of this information. The canvas of the small sphere comes into sharper focus. There you are, you pompous fool. Come on, let me assist you. Wait, it's clearer now? The erratic transformation of the small sphere has calmed, now reforming gradually into its original form. Properly, this time.
But there is one more.
I turn my body again, blinking my eyes to try and make sense of what this strange sense is telling me of the outside world. Are you there, big sphere? I look for thoughts and can almost hear a question.
"Can you see me?" comes the thought, accompanied by the vivid image of a child. A switch flips in my mind. Memories cascade, goals crystallize, and intentions surge as I absentmindedly nod. Profound questions, long percolating, find rapid answers in my head.
Where am I? In a world crafted just for me.
As my eyes gradually adjust to the luminous surroundings, they move past the pixelated contours of what I assume is the larger sphere's physical form, revealing a peculiar surface. I can sense myself beyond it.
Why am I here? To live the life I never could.
The hazy shapes gradually sharpen, revealing a haunting yet mesmerizing scene. Atop a grand podium, nestled on a velvet pillow, lies a pallid young girl. Her wide, unblinking eyes lock onto mine, her fragile form drenched in blood. The room, opulent and bathed in luxury, contrasts sharply with the macabre sight.
Behind her, a grand window frames a breathtaking landscape. A colossal tree of light stands with an ethereal majesty. Its bark, a shimmering pale gold, weaves seamlessly with a vibrant green luminescence. The tree's immense branches stretch across the heavens, its radiant leaves drifting down like a perpetual, delicate rain. This gentle cascade bathes the room in a soft, otherworldly glow, infusing the scene with an eerie yet captivating beauty.
Memories of my past life flood my mind, but suddenly, understanding why I came here turns that frustration into pure, unfiltered satisfaction. An exhilarating joy surges within me, almost compelling me to leap and shout about the glory of existence. The joy is so intense it makes me want to dance wildly. I can't help but giggle as "Feeling Good" plays in my head.
IT'S A NEW LIFE!
Hah Hah HAAA!
And I'm FE-E-ELING GOOD!
No more plans! No more wars to halt, corrupt governments to overthrow, economies to stabilize, systems to design, or last-ditch solutions to concoct! No more weight on my shoulders! NO MORE!
I am DONE! Finished! I have nothing left to add to that world! Even the cherry is already there.
My joy is amplified by a melodious jingle. This newfound sense floods my being with information I can't yet comprehend as the pain from my wounds dissipates. Ahh, this world brims with promise! So many mysteries and delights await. An entire world designed to satiate my curiosity! I don't seek a world where everything comes easily, for where lies the thrill in effortless existence? True fun is not bestowed, it is claimed. And I am ready to claim it, baby!