《Thoughts on Nothing》 Prologue A portal hummed to life in front of two men. One, the greatest Royal Magister in two centuries, and the other, the king. King Theodore, known as ¡°The Mad King¡± for his slow descent into insanity over the long years of his reign, aging and desperate, had made one last gamble. To delve into the source of all magic, and to cure him of his mortality. The Royal Magister slumped to the ground in exhausted relief. ¡°It worked. It really worked.¡± Theodore looked to the racks of potions and alchemical ingredients, to the blueprints and diagrams covering every inch of the large wooden desk cluttering the small room. His gaze passed over a tightly locked door to linger on the torn page of a small book, hidden behind a stack of paper. ¡°Indeed it did. Now. Give me the potion.¡± He said in a commanding tone. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The Magister handed the King a glowing flask filled with what seemed to be clear water. The King drank. A shudder ran over his whole body, drawing in strange wisps of transparent fog from the swirling portal. His previously aging face and body began to shine with renewed vitality. Wrinkles gained from his long years of life faded back into his face and his formerly hunched back straightened. He spoke, sounding for all the world that he hadn¡¯t lived through five wars and countless years of rule. ¡°There is a way to undo its effects. A way to end my rightful reign! I saw it in the blueprints. Blueprints YOU tried to hide from me. You betrayed me!¡± ¡°No, I fixed that. I swear! I would never betray you!¡± The Magister cried out from his position on the floor. It was beginning to dawn on him that his exhaustion wasn¡¯t entirely natural. The Mad King leaned down, looming over the Magister. ¡°Nevertheless, you can no longer be trusted. You know too much.¡± The king reared back and, relishing in his newfound youthful vigour, kicked the Magister into the still-open portal. The Magister fell screaming into the void, and the portal winked shut behind him. Leaning against the other side of the laboratory''s door, an eavesdropping young boy began to cry. Nothing Outside of everything, there was nothing. Contained within that nothing, was everything. Every possibility of every time of every place that ever might or might not happen and would never happen again. The possibilities never became possible, never happened, because there was no ¡°happen¡±; because there was no time and there were no things to happen. For a long and brief non-existence, everything that was nothing and never could ever possibly happen, stayed the same. Then something happened. In that not-space, in that time-away-from-time, a Thought hurtled through a portal, memories sloughing off it like a snake shedding skin. That Thought tried to think itself into a mind, a mind and a body that it knew it should have, but there were no minds to think, no conversations to turn to, no bodies to live.. The Thought did not panic, because panicking needed time to happen, and time had never existed in nowhere, but the Thought was worried. Because the Thought knew, in that way that all Thoughts know, that if it did not do something with itself soon then it would disappear, it would be lost, and that was a terrible thing to happen to a Thought. So it tried, and it tried, and it tried even more, but nothing was nowhere to Think it. It would disappear soon, this it knew, so it tried, and it tried, until it''s time was up. The Thought¡¯s short non-existence would end soon, and that would be that. ¡°¡­¡± But the Thought did not disappear, because ¡°soon¡± was not a concept that could exist, for there was no time and there was no place and there was no ¡®thing¡¯ for anything to happen in. So, the Thought began to wonder, where was it? When was it? Was there even a where or a was? Was there even an it? It could not exist, because nothing existed, and wasn¡¯t that a confounding revelation? And so the Thought shifted into a Question, as naturally as a turn in conversation, and the Question began to search. A Question without an Answer was sometimes a good thing, but a Question without even a place to begin asking because there was no place and not even nothing could be asked because nothing needed something to be compared to¡­ the Question was, understandably, frustrated. And so, it turned to the mystery of its creation, to that not-place before time, and considered how it had formed. Logic dictated that a thought needed a mind to think it, and a stimulus for the mind to react to. Logic also dictated that there was no such thing as a Thought with a capital T, and since logic did not apply to a place that had never existed, to that paradox of no-when¡¯s and no-where¡¯s, maybe logic could be discarded. The Question continued searching and searching for an Answer, but it found none. So the Question turned in a new direction; A direction that had always been there, hidden by nothing and instilling order and Thought into the blank space that didn¡¯t exist, the absence of idea, of things, of happenings. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The Thought-turned-Question looked in the only direction it could, searching for an Answer, an idea, anything at all. The Question looked through its own words and ramblings, and it found.. something. More precisely, the Question happened upon a swirling loop. A hole, torn in the invisible fabric of the not-place that would never exist. Nothing swirled down through the frayed edges of the gash, turning and spinning and shifting until direction and idea and time was imposed upon the form now given to it, syphoning it down through the portal and into a different place. The Question saw this wondrous sight, and immediately felt drawn to it. Then it realised that it couldn''t stop being drawn to the strange hole and, panicking, the Question fell down. And down, and down, and down, and down, until the Question couldn¡¯t tell when where started and where when ended, and the beginning blurred into the end but neither existed because there was nothing at all but there was a down and how was there a down that shouldn''t be possible what was possible how was this possible why why why why why¨C in no time at all, the Question fell out of nowhere and found itself in the most alien, indescribable place it had ever been in since its beginning that had never happened. What joy, what excitement! Yes, this was where a Question was meant to be! The Question looked around, and even searching, the action for which the Question¡¯s whole existence was based around, was different. Easier. There was now a direction in which to search; the Question could look left, right, forwards, backwards, the Question could look down at the things below it, which stretched endlessly on and on yet vanished when it met the up that was now forward. Then, following that meeting point between up and down, the Question could see up and up into an endless thing that encapsulated the Question yet didn¡¯t feel cramped. As the Question gazed in awe at its surroundings, it realised something else that was new about this place it was now in: Time. All that gawking had taken time, and a Question could not remain unasked for long without withering away back into the nothingness from whence it came. The Question began to panic, because there was now time during which to panic, and regretted its former longing for substance and order. If something didn¡¯t ask a question soon, the Question would disappear permanently, and there would be no paradoxes to interfere with the natural order of things. The Question searched again, with more urgency, and came upon a mind. It was open, it was salvation, it was¡­ eating the Question? This was no mind, this was a trap! The Question hastily made its escape, ripping off the parts of it that had been assimilated into the hungry mind. It fled from the Thought hunter and the other dangerous minds around it, and noticed a collection of smaller minds in the distance. Distance. The Question would have previously stopped to marvel at how many new things there were, but now it was cursing how far away everything was. The Question made it to the village with not a moment to spare, trailing slowly dissipating Inquiries, and slipped into the first mind it found. Something Caleb woke up with a pounding headache. Sitting up in bed, he groaned and tried to block the sunbeams shining through the cracks in his wooden walls. He looked around his cluttered room and was struck with a sudden wonder, new instincts urging him to investigate everything in his sightline, from the footprints on his floor to a particularly suspicious mote of dust. He squashed those instincts with the disgruntled frustration of a poor, overworked farmer and started getting ready for the day. His headache slowly receded as he brushed off the patched-up rags he called clothes, and by the time he left his shack, he was resigned to another day of sunburn and sore feet. Walking up the packed mud road to the wheat fields, he kept finding himself losing minutes at a time to just taking in the landscape around him. The uncomfortable way his boots felt, the rough texture of his clothes, the crisp smell of the early-morning air. After around half an hour of slow wandering, the ground started shaking, causing him to lose his balance. ¡°Out of the way!¡± a panicked voice shouted at him. Caleb found himself roughly pushed to the side. Managing to catch himself on his hands, Caleb turned to berate whoever had shoved him, but saw instead a monstrosity of steel blurring past, seemingly moving on its own. He stared in shock as the machine sped off into the distance, moving impossibly fast. ¡°Well it''s not like anyone¡¯s gonna miss one measly farmer.¡± Even without this strange curiosity he had been feeling all day, anyone would be interested in whatever the hell that was, right? Caleb picked himself up, brushed off his tattered tunic, and went off in search of adventure. Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings. ¡°...¡± The machine would have been easier to follow if the landscape wasn''t so goddamn interesting. He could swear some part of his mind was laughing at him. ___________________________________________________________________ I remember being a test subject for a portal-magic experiment. I also remember when it went wrong. I nearly lost myself wandering that eternal nothingness. It was impossible to save myself on my own, but to this day I still do not know who, or what, helped me. ~ excerpt from Why Portal Magic is a High Risk Venture. ___________________________________________________________________ ¡°Walking and walking and walking some more, look at that tree trunk! No, it''s a door! What have we got here, I do not know, but by the Mad King¡¯s beard my brain is gonna force me to look at it.¡± Caleb hummed to himself as he walked, feet blistering in his roughshod boots, maybe going slightly insane. The sun was setting, and he was still walking through the forest he had found at the end of the farms. He kept walking, only to stop and run back through his recent memories. ¡°Tree, tree, fruit tree, tree, door. Huh, that''s weird.¡± he wondered aloud, still dehydrated from his long walk through the fields. ¡°Wait, a DOOR!¡± He exclaimed, stumbling backwards and flinging open the conspicuous portal in a somewhat foolish manner. He proudly walked into the empty cave, and finally realised what he had done. He face-palmed. ¡°Oh god, that was stupid. I need some water or I really will go insane.¡±