The Boy & The Void

The boy felt it first; that empty thing, that unending malaise. It was there now, over his shoulder. He didn’t dare look. The void got angry if you looked at it. Besides, it wasn’t there – it was a nothing. That was the point. What comfort could you find in seeing nothing?

It had begun following him several months ago. He had started to feel its presence in short intevals, just as though it was passing him. Gradually the void had stayed longer, and visited more often and so now it was his constant companion.

The void was that hand on his shoulder which reminded him of his limitations at the peak of his joyful excesses, it was the cold pillow in the morning which should be hot; it was the sad song in the party playlist, it was dropping food you were looking forward to on the floor; it was smile not given and not received.

He didn’t know what to make of the nothing which now followed him at every step, which never let him forget about its presence. All he knew was that there’s only one way to destroy nothing, and that’s to make it something.

He set out to do so.


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