The first time I heard the Song, I wept. I knew it could not be real. My tainted mind had played enough tricks on me to last an entire lifetime, and it did. My life was something less of a life and somewhat more of a death. But even death had its cruel yet comforting embrace that pulled the fabrics of existence away. In my world, I had no comfort. I had no sunshine, no moonlight, no life, no death. There was only nothingness.
The Song. It was incredibly beautiful. Sad, yes, but the melody numbed the painful emptiness. It was strange to me, how I cried when I heard the first sounds in a thousand millennia. It gave me hope, and it brought my long lost past back to me in a way that I could never have imagined. Sight became more of a promise than a forbidden dream. I began to see.
Memories may shake the emotions, or they may calm a storm of hurt inside the heart. In my case, the memory of an existence made a tomorrow seem possible. I could not yet speak or remember words. I had no name for what was happening to me, no word to describe the fascinating sensation that purged my ears of silence, no language to explain the frighteningly vivid light that was slowly getting brighter. I simply had an instinctive feeling of excitement in the pit of my soul, and it finally began to take form in my brain.
So I was alive. I pronounced something in my mind. I thought hard to make a word take shape. "World," I said. The word reverberated around me and echoed back for an eternity. "World, world, world," my voice kept saying. The one thing I didn't have. Without it, there is nothing. A world is a place where things exist, a place where fellows of a brotherhood can enjoy one another's company, where enemies can fight and steal, where lovers can continue their species in a mutual bond of pleasure. Yet I did hear, and I saw the light around me.
"Life," I spoke.
A new word. It seemed to fit into the other one. Suddenly my senses became more acute. My heart jumped in my chest and I opened my mouth, allowing precious air into my lungs. The song reached its pinnacle and I actually opened my eyes for the first time. So the light was only a dim shadow of its true source. The real origin of this brightness came from a strange object above me.
I realized I was in a room. With a cautious determination I moved my eyes across my surroundings. All these things I could remember: a chair, a window, a closed door, and of course a bed that I was in, covered in a white sheet. Another sound interrupted my pondering.
The door was opening. I heard voices muttering behind it. The suspense of seeing a person almost hurt. Finally a man entered, carrying a clipboard. He wore a white coat and looked through a pair of large glasses. He noticed I was awake and said something. My brain was too busy to pay attention, but I eventually realized he was indeed talking to me.
"James? Did you sleep well?"
So my name is James. I blinked and focused on him, hesitating for a moment to make sure I said the word correctly.
"Yes," I answered.
My own voice surprised me.