by Nicolas Verhoeven

Created on: March 25, 2009

Time

Imagine a world of white, only white. The ground is one texture: a tough, cement-like ground, with no variation, save the granule ongoing. Let your camera cast it's gaze around, in circular motion, and see the addition of all colors form the sight of the blind. An hour glass appears before you as you make the last stretch of your turn. An odd hour glass, it holds sand within an invisible (or simply clear) casing. You may want to touch it, but this is futile, it sits just out of reach, an easy few inches from your drawn fingers. You may attempt to move forward to cover the insignificant distance, but the hour glass continues to evade your grasp. You would get something to touch it with, but there lies nothing about you. Look on and watch as the bits of sand fall through to it's lower chamber, but inexplainable disappointment overtakes you as the sand simply falls to the ground. Reaching your hand forward, you smoothly cover the surface where the sand had fallen with the palm of your hand, in attempts to allow pieces to clench to the skin, casually imprinting. To your amazement, the grit no longer exists where your perceptions had indicated. You lift your hand and let it fall limply to your side as you stand once more. Looking up, the age indicator still runs flakes through the minute hole, but the quantity in the clear/invisible coned top does not diminish. Perplexed, you sigh and set your gaze a drift. Eyes blanketing and increasingly mystified, the gaze shortens, a fuzzed brain obfuscates into a different thought. Mental zoning occurs and what is present is barely realized as the mind retracts into an invisible shell of introspective past and future. However, nothing occurs. No thoughts, nothing. Experience evades you for you are empty. You slowly refocus and bewilderedly try to think of something, anything, but nothing comes to mind. You can not even label what the thing before you is, nor can you describe your omnipotent setting. Words fail you, for you are empty.

Steadily, but ever soft and growing in intensity your ears are assailed for what seems to be the first time by musical notation being carried from every possible side. All around the music rises and falls, echoing and pushing it's odd rhythmic beat through every pore. Multiple ringings fluctuating in and out in assorted volumes to come to a stop and give way to a feeble pounding and a bass dominated elongated throb. The immediate tinkle of a delicate, glass like sound intermittently weaving in to add to the beauty of meaning. Then... then the pounding rapidly grows in velocity and measure to break a man's voice into the harmony building up into a casual, relaxing song. The man breaks out in relative high toned excitement to exclaim "Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day, You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way, Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town, Waiting for someone or something to show you the way...". You remain empty headed, but as the sounds push in and out of your skull, you look down and see your figure slowly fade into your surroundings. You do not mind, you gently listen on to the man's awesome voice in it's powerful carry along this whole world. One last sight... the hour glass remains, stable, pure, and ongoing in dispensing, never depleting.

You vanish. Good bye Empty, it was regular of you to stop by, until next Time.

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