He who exists by Clayton Barnes
He couldn’t remember his name, the touch of the wind on his skin, or a single person he had ever known. What he could remember was the void. Deafening silence swallowed even the idea of a sound. If he still had eyes, he would see the most stunningly beautiful things. Stars throwing graceful arcs of plasma millions of miles long. Planets pirouetting around invisible ellipses. Galaxies harboring life and beauties beyond conception. All the wonders of the infinite cosmos, and he couldn’t see any of it. He couldn’t speak, move, or do anything else that a living being has the right to do. For all intents and purposes, he wasn’t living. The man floating through the endless abyss began his journey in what would become Leningrad sometime in the 8th century. He had lived a basic existence struggling to survive the harsh tundra until he realized that he didn’t have to struggle. He didn’t have to do anything. He didn’t need to eat, drink, sleep, or breathe. What he did have to do
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