Exeunt, Jack.

"Uhm," he mumbles.

"Out with it!" a voice cracks from the darkness, a whip.

"Hi," he states, rather blandly. "I'm Jack. And I'd like to-"

"Bravo!" the darkness cheers.

The man looks visibly confused, raising an eyebrow, though he really can't in real life. That's the beauty of fiction.

"I don't believe I've done anything to merit an applause, yet," he says, slowly.

"Of course you have!" the darkness shouts back. "You have told us you're Jack. That is a thing of wonder, right there! Truly a matter of great spirituality and philosophy at the same moment."

The eyebrow remains fixed below his bangs, forehead wrinkled in concentration.

"I'm not quite sure what you mean."

"You're Jack!" comes the loud reply. "Nothing, nada, zero. You have proved your own nonexistance, don't you see."

"Oh," he blurts. The eyebrows are reunited to the same horizontal plane, but his brow remains knit in contemplation. "But I do exist. I said so. You spoke to me, so I must, right?"

"So you're saying you exist, even though you have proven you don't?" the darkness asks.

"Yes, that is what I am saying."

"Who is saying?"

"I am.

"Who are you?"


"Says who?"

"Says you."

"Who am I?"

"Well I don't bloody know! I can't even see you. You could very well not exist," he retorts, flustered.

"I don't like where this is going," the darkness mumbles.

"That's it, I'm leaving."

As he says so, the spotlight dims. The blinding light leaves his eyes, and he can now see his audience.

Or rather, lack there-of.

"I cannot work under these conditions," he stomps, leaving the stage.

The house light sparkle on, and applause fills the chamber. The problem with nothing is that nothing never quite knows when to be nothing, and when not to be. It's a side effect of never being there to begin with.

I suppose words can form circles now, too.

The End

23 comments about this story Feed