A musing on the nature of reality:
All Alone In The Dark
How is anything... anything at all?
That was the real plague rooted deep inside and underneath, hidden just past the line of perception but still making enough of an uncomfortable mindbump to generate questions. Innumerable questions. Questions that could never be answered except perhaps in death, but even then there could be a mulititude of layers to rise through before reaching the pinnacle of how let alone why of... everything, anything and nothing.
"More questions my boy?" Father smiled.
"If I had but one new answer I think you would already know it."
"Perhaps, but then you'll never really know unless you ask."
Scarley frowned, his eyebrows diving down.
"I had the strangest thought today. I considered that all of reality was built around me to serve only myself, much as the environment of a dream."
"Go on." Father sucked on his pipe.
"... but then I thought that must be impossible because if my mind was the only real thing in existence then I would know that all of existence was made up... by myself for myself... and yet I don't know this."
"Maybe you've just forgotten."
"Why would I want to forget?"
"Perhaps the thought that you were the only real thing in existence made you feel lonely."
"That's just silly."
"And life isn't?"
Scarley raspberried and stomped off.