A long, long non-time ago, in a place that was no place yet every place all at once and never was, there was Nothing. The not-place before the existence of Existence, with no Dark nor Light and yet nothing that Was or could ever be, but Is. But then something Was. An Echo, calling out into the Nothing as it drifted in the lack of gravity or vacuum. This echo, slowly but surely, became an Idea.

Now, a Nothing is nothing so the mere thought of there being a Something, even one as seemingly small as an Idea, would be absurd, only Absurdity was Not, and so the Idea Was. The Idea had no size and no shape, for those things were Not, and therefore couldn't be. But it lived in It's seeming-life among the Nothing, and as it did, it gained Thought. A Thought that couldn't possibly Be, but it Was, and so it Is.

The Thought was one of Loneliness.

Yes, Nothing was a lonely place, so terribly Not. And the Idea was so very, very alone. But the Idea was not yet ready, not quite yet.


In the simplest of terms, the Idea began to mature.

Now, the Echo that evolved into the Idea didn't pop up from just nowhere. Perhaps, in some time long before the nonexistence of time (or if there were some other means than Time, I shall never know), many, many things Were. Civilizations, lives, thoughts and knowledge and so many of these beautiful aspects that that stayed long after they faded. But that is an End, and this story is of a Beginning.

However it may be, The Echo contained strands of information, millions upon millions of coding to make this one, faint signature in the Nothing. The Idea used these, and grew Form. It grew and grew and suddenly, Size Was. Shape was. Shapes beyond our perception, for these Shapes were far from perfect, if such a thing Was.

And the Idea became a Thing.

It enveloped Itself in tendrils of Dark, in doing so creating Light. The Thing was massive, for now Massive Was as it Wasn't before. The tendrils became arms, or paws, or a pseudo-extension of itself that for that sake of simplicity we shall leave at arms. Followed by a Body. Then Legs. Then a Head. And finally, the most important- a Mind.

The Thing was no longer an Echo, nor an Idea with a Thought. It was an Existence in It's own right. It was a Life, but like none we had ever seen before, or are ever likely to see. It was New and Ancient because suddenly, Time was. That lovely, beautifully delicious feeling of Being, because at the moment Time became, so was Beauty.

But the Life was still so horribly Alone.

And along with Beauty and Joy and Time and all Wondrous things, came Sorrow. Deep, aching sorrow. Pain, and it's Horrid brethren of Anger and Regret and Hatred. The Life felt all these things, and so came Feeling. It hated It's sorrow, It despised It's very Existence and whatever put It there so feel so many things.

So the Life began to Create, as Creation Became. Stars, Gasses, Matter to fill and warm It's gargantuan body. It painted new colors across It's chest, made a thousand suns It's heart and billions of lives It's blood. Soon, the only nothing that remained were the pits of It's deep, dark eyes. With simple touches and light strokes, a new pair of eyes opened…

And the Being was no longer alone.