Millions of miles away in the hills with thick snow, in a hut on the bank of a nearly frozen lake sat an old man. He sat on a chair as rickety as him. There was a grave sense of age that anyone who saw him strangely felt. It was like he had been living since forever. No one ever saw him though. No one in the world truly knew he existed.
He sat there on the chair and worked on his table with a huge book. He enjoyed writing. He was scribbling slowly, making sure every word he wrote was etched into paper. He waited and saw every drop of ink being absorbed by the paper, feeling the letter take shape before he moved on. So steady was his hand that the cold wind from the window warmed up as it passed him. He had an effortless grace to his writing.
'Hello! Is anyone home?' Came a sound breaking into the silence. It was like shattering glass, breaking the sound barrier and hitting your ears so hard that they would bleed.
The old man was unmoved. It was as if he knew there was going be someone at the door. He kept his pen down and stood up. He moved his chair and walked to the door, steady steps , noiselessly. He could have might as well floated. He opened the door to see a young man, barely standing, shivering in the cold. His warm clothing clearly not able to hold his body heat, it looked like his heart would have frostbite. The man stumbled inside without saying a word. He dropped his near frozen body near the fireplace. The old man closed the door.
The heat was like the antidote. He could feel his body drink it down like it was a parched desert and rain fell on it. It had a been a few hours. 'Thank you, I couldn't have been closer to death but I live because of you' the young man muttered, barely audible.
The old man was back at his chair doing what he had been doing. He did not respond. After finishing the letter he had started etching, he looked back and acknowledged the stranger's presence. 'It is good to see someone come around.' Said the old man. His voice was ruffled and filled with growls. The young man saw the face and felt sad. He felt he was seeing into something prehistoric. The eyes were endlessly deep. The beard and the hair had grayed like it had worn out over hundreds of years. He was looking at the past beyond his comprehension.
He stood up with an effort. 'Who are you and why do you live here? I almost killed myself just to get to this edge of the world. It's impossible to come here even with all the plans and tools and you actually live here. I cannot fathom this. I am surely dreaming'. The old man looked at the boy. His face was glowing red in the heat of the fire. 'It is what it has to be. You could not be away from reality. This is the most real that you can ever get, we can ever get.'
The boy made and effort and walked to the old man. He peered down at the thick binding of paper on which the old mans hand held the pen. The handwriting was even, warm and smelled like fresh cakes out of the oven. The boy began reading from the top of the page of the big binding of paper. He had to stretch out onto it to get his eyes to focus on the top of the big book. He read a few long lines moving his head not just his eyes to keep up with the width of the page. After a few lines he looked a the old man who now was sitting looking at the boy read. 'I haven't read anything more fascinating than this in my life. It is like reading through life itself. You must be a genius to be able to even construct words this way. I think I am going to read the whole book, if you permit me that is.' The old man smiled. 'So you do not know it yet.' He said, then took a pause just of the right amount to allow for a measured gulp of air to fill his lungs. Just enough for him to say the next few words. 'Read it if you that is what you want. You have earned every right to. You are the only person who has come to this place at the edge of the world.'
The boy lifted his eyes again and began to read the last page again where he had left off. After a few hours he was on the final few words. 'Why does this end in darkness? It is like you have given up on it. You have ended this book and given it a cold and dark end. It cannot be so sad. There has to be a better way.' He looked up as he did this. The hut was empty. The old man was gone. The boy looked outside the window. The old man was moving slowly into the lake. He whispered in the silence, 'read it completely and then write it the way you would have wanted it to end.' The words flew over and the boy felt them enter his consciousness. He saw the old man enter the water and walk into it until he disappeared. Then fell the darkness. It was the darkest it had ever been, like looking into a big bottomless hole.
The boy looked down the thick book. The candle next to the book felt like the sun in that vast emptiness. With a massive effort he turned it right to the first page and settled down in the chair to read it from the beginning.
'Let there be light' is how it started.
He sat there on the chair and worked on his table with a huge book. He enjoyed writing. He was scribbling slowly, making sure every word he wrote was etched into paper. He waited and saw every drop of ink being absorbed by the paper, feeling the letter take shape before he moved on. So steady was his hand that the cold wind from the window warmed up as it passed him. He had an effortless grace to his writing.
'Hello! Is anyone home?' Came a sound breaking into the silence. It was like shattering glass, breaking the sound barrier and hitting your ears so hard that they would bleed.
The old man was unmoved. It was as if he knew there was going be someone at the door. He kept his pen down and stood up. He moved his chair and walked to the door, steady steps , noiselessly. He could have might as well floated. He opened the door to see a young man, barely standing, shivering in the cold. His warm clothing clearly not able to hold his body heat, it looked like his heart would have frostbite. The man stumbled inside without saying a word. He dropped his near frozen body near the fireplace. The old man closed the door.
The heat was like the antidote. He could feel his body drink it down like it was a parched desert and rain fell on it. It had a been a few hours. 'Thank you, I couldn't have been closer to death but I live because of you' the young man muttered, barely audible.
The old man was back at his chair doing what he had been doing. He did not respond. After finishing the letter he had started etching, he looked back and acknowledged the stranger's presence. 'It is good to see someone come around.' Said the old man. His voice was ruffled and filled with growls. The young man saw the face and felt sad. He felt he was seeing into something prehistoric. The eyes were endlessly deep. The beard and the hair had grayed like it had worn out over hundreds of years. He was looking at the past beyond his comprehension.
He stood up with an effort. 'Who are you and why do you live here? I almost killed myself just to get to this edge of the world. It's impossible to come here even with all the plans and tools and you actually live here. I cannot fathom this. I am surely dreaming'. The old man looked at the boy. His face was glowing red in the heat of the fire. 'It is what it has to be. You could not be away from reality. This is the most real that you can ever get, we can ever get.'
The boy made and effort and walked to the old man. He peered down at the thick binding of paper on which the old mans hand held the pen. The handwriting was even, warm and smelled like fresh cakes out of the oven. The boy began reading from the top of the page of the big binding of paper. He had to stretch out onto it to get his eyes to focus on the top of the big book. He read a few long lines moving his head not just his eyes to keep up with the width of the page. After a few lines he looked a the old man who now was sitting looking at the boy read. 'I haven't read anything more fascinating than this in my life. It is like reading through life itself. You must be a genius to be able to even construct words this way. I think I am going to read the whole book, if you permit me that is.' The old man smiled. 'So you do not know it yet.' He said, then took a pause just of the right amount to allow for a measured gulp of air to fill his lungs. Just enough for him to say the next few words. 'Read it if you that is what you want. You have earned every right to. You are the only person who has come to this place at the edge of the world.'
The boy lifted his eyes again and began to read the last page again where he had left off. After a few hours he was on the final few words. 'Why does this end in darkness? It is like you have given up on it. You have ended this book and given it a cold and dark end. It cannot be so sad. There has to be a better way.' He looked up as he did this. The hut was empty. The old man was gone. The boy looked outside the window. The old man was moving slowly into the lake. He whispered in the silence, 'read it completely and then write it the way you would have wanted it to end.' The words flew over and the boy felt them enter his consciousness. He saw the old man enter the water and walk into it until he disappeared. Then fell the darkness. It was the darkest it had ever been, like looking into a big bottomless hole.
The boy looked down the thick book. The candle next to the book felt like the sun in that vast emptiness. With a massive effort he turned it right to the first page and settled down in the chair to read it from the beginning.
'Let there be light' is how it started.
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