when we move we move through time and space

from that WIP
In the hallway (long and stretching and lined with synchronized ceiling fans) there is a scattered puzzle with pieces missing and a large man assembling each piece by piece. When he finds an empty spot he keeps going on, ignoring the void of puzzle, even though it stares at him and through him and he knows if he looks too long the void will swallow him up (it will, he knows it will, he knows it).

The puzzle:

charcoal ghosts on Halloween night and it looks like a kid drew it and then cut out the puzzle pieces himself, and the kid probably kept it in a little plastic baggy, and if you look closely most of these wide eyed ghosts are so familiar, they’re people you know, people you’ve met on the street or people you’ve met in your dreams…

The void pieces are starting to bother the large man so eventually he quits in frustration and piles up all the pieces and puts them back into the ziplock bag. He does this like a ritual, like something repeated over and over again, something that has religious meaning and clings to him, and if he does it just right it brings him hope somehow. This puzzle held keys to something, to everything but he didn’t know what, couldn’t know what.

He stands up and scratches his head and looks up and down the hallway and realizes he has no idea where he is and just starts walking in any random direction. He’s not sure if it’s north, or if it’s south, or whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, he needs to move on and keep on walking. That was truth to him, movement was truth and movement meant travelling through time and space and he thinks of himself as a voyager outside of it all, gliding through the empty void of reality with the glow of his puzzle pieces lighting the way.


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