The Echoes From The Emptiness

Before sun. Before moon. Before stars named the dark. Before time learned to speak—there was only vastness.

Endless. Empty. Alive.

And in it: specks. Tiny flickers. Suspended. Shivering with forgotten fire.

I floated. No direction. No shape. Just being.

One speck twitched.

It pulsed—became.

Green hills rolled out like breath. Mountains shimmered, soft and sudden. Faces—half-formed—glimpsed, then gone. A blink. The memory folded in on itself. Collapse. Back to specks.

Another flared.

Sound cracked the silence—Thunder. Lands twisted, blurred, broke apart. Cities dust-choked, skies falling, something screaming from beneath. A sun blinked awake, too close. Burning. Breathing fire. Then—

Gone.

Silence again. Thick. Cold. Forever.

Still, I drifted.

Then—pulse.

Blue.

A spark far off, but different. Not just memory. Alive. It pulled at me. Urgent. See me.

I moved.

The closer I came, the more it grew. Clouds. Vast skies. Oceans whispering to land. A world unfolding, delicate. Alive. Beautiful.

Then—

Red.

The sky bled. Crimson poured like smoke from wounds. A figure stood below, eyes wide. Mouth open. Frozen. Terror.

The sky ignited. Screamed.

Then—silence.

But the specks didn’t scatter this time.

One face stayed.

Still. Clear.

It turned.

To me.

Not past me. Not through me.

At me.

Eyes full—of fear, yes. But also wonder. Sorrow. And—love.

The gaze struck like lightning to bone.

I saw me.

Not a witness. Not a wanderer.

The memory.

Alive. Awake. Remembering itself.

And in those eyes, something clicked open:

I wasn’t floating through the memories.

I was one

A speck of sparkling memory.