Volatile
By Nishant Shukla
The gentleman sits and aggressively thinks. He sinks inside his shoes, synchronizes with the peaceful silence, and simply often thinks. One can almost hear the boisterous gears inside his head rotate as his exhausted brain functions so tirelessly. Exactly what he always thinks about is still unknown, but we shall assume it is something rather stunning. When he sits down, from time to time his eyes burn beams of extravagant glow. Something pounds inside of him that he cannot stop. He imagines abstractions so powerful and pure that they could not possibly exist. It is an indiscernible force, supple, silent, yet alive that lives through him. Everyone around him feels it, and they sense his roaring thoughts. His cranium is sparkling limitlessly and the silence continues. The thought is not finished - The muse has not left.
His body is a stone, never moving. Let there be no similes; one must believe that a statue of a man made out of thick stones sits two arm lengths beside me. I never see that man blink nor can I claim that he has ever twitched. He deserts his flesh to journey his mind, something he discovered to do long ago. This man never liked his body. No, he isn't unappealing; he just never finds it of any value, so he simply abandons it. He lives inside his mind because there he is free. Hours pass by and shadows slowly flatten, yet we wait for his return, never understanding his complex enigma. We wait until the possessed man finishes his daily routine, although no one truly understands why.
Three hours pass until his eyes slightly shift a color. The radiance in his eyes is finally gone and his face has returned. In the split second prior to his arrival, something had died in the room. A strapping breathless force used to exist, which now is lost. A magnificent volume inconceivably dense just escaped my presence. An entire imagination vanished, and only a thin mutated wisp of his mighty thought survives. The man stands up and gently exits the room. His whistling wisp of a mind follows him closely. It is then that we understand his day is complete. That thin material behind the man is the debris left of his thought, pulsating to stay alive.
He continues to walk until the room behind him instantaneously vanishes as he exits. It simply disappears without a trace. When the man leaves the room, the room no longer serves any purpose to him and so there is no reason for its existence, thus the room decides to vanish. It shies off and dies from this universe. Without the man and his mind inside the room, everything else slowly crumbles, yet he is never aware of the deep blanket of null that he creates. The disappearance of the innumerable people, buildings, trees, and more is his power. When he looks back, he sees his wisp of thought pondering about, and behind it, nothing exists; the portion of the universe he just walked though becomes a transparent and intangible void.
It is impossible to decipher where everything went, but it didn't matter then. Nothing else did. Only the thoughts - they were composed of some mysterious matter.
The man and his mind continue their stroll side by side, searching breathlessly for the next blast of genius that would haunt them for weeks to come. His brain is always there and his mind never leaves his side.
We try to understand his ideas, but his mind keeps pulling him away to a hushed corner to evaluate new thoughts that keep discovering him.
- - -
About me: interests include mathematics, philosophy, and programming. I'm new to the world of literature, but it fascinates me so I would like to submit a very short story.
By Nishant Shukla
The gentleman sits and aggressively thinks. He sinks inside his shoes, synchronizes with the peaceful silence, and simply often thinks. One can almost hear the boisterous gears inside his head rotate as his exhausted brain functions so tirelessly. Exactly what he always thinks about is still unknown, but we shall assume it is something rather stunning. When he sits down, from time to time his eyes burn beams of extravagant glow. Something pounds inside of him that he cannot stop. He imagines abstractions so powerful and pure that they could not possibly exist. It is an indiscernible force, supple, silent, yet alive that lives through him. Everyone around him feels it, and they sense his roaring thoughts. His cranium is sparkling limitlessly and the silence continues. The thought is not finished - The muse has not left.
His body is a stone, never moving. Let there be no similes; one must believe that a statue of a man made out of thick stones sits two arm lengths beside me. I never see that man blink nor can I claim that he has ever twitched. He deserts his flesh to journey his mind, something he discovered to do long ago. This man never liked his body. No, he isn't unappealing; he just never finds it of any value, so he simply abandons it. He lives inside his mind because there he is free. Hours pass by and shadows slowly flatten, yet we wait for his return, never understanding his complex enigma. We wait until the possessed man finishes his daily routine, although no one truly understands why.
Three hours pass until his eyes slightly shift a color. The radiance in his eyes is finally gone and his face has returned. In the split second prior to his arrival, something had died in the room. A strapping breathless force used to exist, which now is lost. A magnificent volume inconceivably dense just escaped my presence. An entire imagination vanished, and only a thin mutated wisp of his mighty thought survives. The man stands up and gently exits the room. His whistling wisp of a mind follows him closely. It is then that we understand his day is complete. That thin material behind the man is the debris left of his thought, pulsating to stay alive.
He continues to walk until the room behind him instantaneously vanishes as he exits. It simply disappears without a trace. When the man leaves the room, the room no longer serves any purpose to him and so there is no reason for its existence, thus the room decides to vanish. It shies off and dies from this universe. Without the man and his mind inside the room, everything else slowly crumbles, yet he is never aware of the deep blanket of null that he creates. The disappearance of the innumerable people, buildings, trees, and more is his power. When he looks back, he sees his wisp of thought pondering about, and behind it, nothing exists; the portion of the universe he just walked though becomes a transparent and intangible void.
It is impossible to decipher where everything went, but it didn't matter then. Nothing else did. Only the thoughts - they were composed of some mysterious matter.
The man and his mind continue their stroll side by side, searching breathlessly for the next blast of genius that would haunt them for weeks to come. His brain is always there and his mind never leaves his side.
We try to understand his ideas, but his mind keeps pulling him away to a hushed corner to evaluate new thoughts that keep discovering him.
- - -
About me: interests include mathematics, philosophy, and programming. I'm new to the world of literature, but it fascinates me so I would like to submit a very short story.
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