Another response to a prompt from Black Ship Books. It's very short...
All is dark and silent; silent and empty; empty and lonely.
Is this all there is? But what could possibly be beyond the here and now? Where else is there but here? What would 'not here' be like?
These questions achieve nothing. They cannot penetrate the unending blackness. What could?
Undark could... but what would that be? Can there be such a thing? Where would it come from, how would it come to be?
Undark... If dark is emptiness, undark must be fullness. Full of... something... Dazzling whiteness against this numbing blackness.
But who can call it forth? There is no-one. Just this one, moving endlessly through the emptiness. This one has always been, will always be. Existing. Alone...
This one knows that the darkness and silence and emptiness and loneliness are forever. They have always been, as long as this one has been. They will always be, as long as this one is.
Perhaps this one could make undark appear... This one is the only one. There is no other. If it is going to happen, then this one will have to make it happen.
“Who is this one?!”
The sudden scream shatters the silence for a moment but is quickly swallowed up again.
Just as it was. Just as it always has been. Just as it always will be unless this one does something.
“Who is this one?!” comes again, whispered this time, a sigh lost in the nothingness. But now, there is an answer.
“I AM!” echoes through the blackness, shivers the nothingness. The here and now waits, expectant, alive with possibilities.
I am. I exist. I am here, I am now. I can push back the darkness with undark, just by willing it.
And with that understanding comes the command, as easy as thought.
“Let there be light!”
And there is light, beautiful, dazzling, whiter than the dark was black. And I know that the light is very good.