A series of dreams - snippets of people, places, times, stories (historical, fictional, or fantastical) - important events, or random everyday activities.
The character is ageless and sexless - his/her appearance changes from dream to dream. In fact, the only recurring them is his/her voice.
The meaning behind it? Reincarnation? The force of the universe? Hallucinations? Insomnia? Some other random phenomenon? You decide...
Darkness. It was everywhere, unbroken. It seemed to have swallowed me. Perhaps I was in a black hole. Time and space, which seemed to be connected to the presence of light, were meaningless. I could not even be bothered to ask myself what time it was or where I was, the way people are so prone to do, because the questions were simply irrelevant.
Perhaps I was dead. I had not ruled out the possibility. But to me, the ability to reason about it seemed to refute the conclusion. When I thought of death, I imagined that when it occurred I would stop thinking of it. Still, there was no way to know for sure. All I knew was darkness and my dreams.
I didn't mind the darkness. It was not uncomfortable or frightening. In fact it was very peaceful, like sleeping, except being conscious to enjoy every minute of it.
My dreams were chaotic in comparison. I never knew what to expect. Sometimes I would be drowning in an ocean. Other times I would be in a house somewhere, or perhaps a park or a desert or on a mountain. Sometimes I would be happy there. Sometimes I was imprisoned, or in pain, or afraid of someone or something.
The dreams seemed unconnected, like pieces from different puzzles that weren't meant to fit. In fact, the only thing that connected them all was me.
I didn't like to dwell on the logic, though. Just the colours and emotions and textures of them. How different they were from the darkness! So full of life and wonder and beauty.
My dreams were like adventures, and the darkness was my home.