It Need Not Be So (Micro Story)

He was like a drop of water, swept away into an ocean. For so long he had been his own, now he struggled to retain himself in a sea of nothingness. What was his name again? His face? Years slipped away with every second. The powers that be had eventually saw no use in keeping him together. Like all things, the man would die. His life force would cycle back into the cosmos, serving as fuel for new creations. The Self he once was was evaporating, even as his powerful will stood it's ground, desperately trying to keep his very being together.

It seemed hopeless, though. His will to power, his ideals, his brilliant mind, and his intense personality all faded, their strength irrelevant. It was as if his body was the thing holding everything together, preventing it from floating up and away, into the nexus of life and death. Everything that the once great man had been seemed small, fickle in the face of the infinity of space and time. He was no more. The man that seemed impossible to dimminsh was finally slipping away.

But some things are beyond ourselves. Our words live on in the hearts of all those touched by them, for better or worse. Our memory, though immaterial, stays until the final story is told, and all those who listened forget. Our lives are forever stamped onto existence, no matter how small they are, coloring the eternal chain of actions and reactions that determine the grand symphony of the universe. But most of all, it is the bond between souls that never dies, not through the passage of millennia, the loss of life, or the cruelty of fate. It was not willpower, intellect, or righteousness that saved Lucius Alba, not this time, but his immutable love for the one he had lost so seemingly long ago, and for the one's he had left behind in a world heading straight for catastrophe. Lucius was a hateful man, an arrogant man, but it was the thing he had for so long considered a weakness that was his Savior.

Is this it?

The whisper echoed into the void, quiet, but undeniable. The question was rhetorical. Lucius did not expect a response. But he was not the only soul that had felt so profoundly as to maintain itself after the body had long since gone.

Yes, but also no. The universe is on it's own nothing but empty matter. There is no end goal, no purpose or grand meaning, save for what we make ourselves. We are the only flames in never ending veils of darkness. The mind, the soul, and all that comes from it, are the only things that truly are.

We were made to design the world, Dad. This is it, but it doesn't have to be.

You don't have to stay, my child. You don't have to accept it, and burn out.... You can always rise above what you have been told you are.

The whispers were familiar. Lucius' damaged soul could not identify them, but he knew he loved them. He knew they were his anchor. Whether these voices came from them or if they were simply manifestations from his own being, he did not know, but it didn't matter now.

How? It's all so final. So unavoidable. the quiet echo seemed beaten down. It had been so strong before, now it's words barely flowed.

Existence is necessarily stronger than non-existence, otherwise it wouldn't be possible. You need only believe that fact to overcome the coldness of death, and continue burning. It seems so final, so powerful, yes, but you are, and it is not. You always have control, it just wants to convince you you don't.

If you still have work to do, reach out. Connect with what is material, and find yourself reborn. The world will not be the same, nor will you, but you will retain your essence.

And when you're ready, we'll be here, waiting for you.

And for the first time in a span meaningless to a place without the concept, the darkness lit up, a brief flash of red in an infinite abyss. The power of existence, for so long fooled into being subject to it's opposite, made itself known.

________________

This child was not like others in this world. There was an atmosphere about him, as if he were outside everyone else. Even with only moments of life, his mother knew something was different. She cradled him in her arms, wondering what force or God could have sent this peculiar child.

"What will you name him?" the Doctor asked, a smile on his face. The woman had a name on the tip of her tongue, one already planned for months ago, but in the instant she was about to say it, her brow furrowed. No, no that wasn't right.

"Lu-.... Lucius. His name is Lucius." the woman said. The father looked baffled, as if he might question the decision. After all, the boy was supposed to be named after him. But as he thought, as he looked at his first and only child to be, he knew it was the right choice.

The child's eyes opened for the first time, a pale, silvery grey that seemed to look through you and into the unknown.

A soul had survived the darkness. Life had triumphed over death.