“All that was known, will be known once again” - Averick Tellings

  Chapter One:

  “Nihilism. What is it, what does it mean? The book says: “the rejection of all religious and moral principles, in the belief that life is meaningless.” But is the book correct? Does rejecting such principles, such as religion and morals, truly lead to meaninglessness? Or is it the pursuit of meaninglessness, and that it is true, that leads to the ck of such principals? I believe; neither. Nihilism is simply a projection of rejection from the ways of life, as if to show that they are foolish and inconsistent in any logical sense. Then, the real question is, am I a nihilist? Do I view every object of my universe to be inadequate and thus meaningless? Well, no, I don’t, and yet, I still believe that I myself hold some nihilistic values. After all, I cannot be satisfied with the life I am living, and I know for a fact, that there is more out there. The clues all lead to that. Nihilism, just like every other word, is just a bel, something that humans made so that they could understand and sort things more easily. It's foolish, and wasteful, and all in all, meaningless. That is why I think that I am a purebred nihilist, and no one else can tell me otherwise. In fact, no one else can tell me otherwise, because no one else exists. At least, as far as I can see, feel, smell and touch. Maybe, if I tune in to my inner zen, my inner chakra and soul, the religious energies that make me human, I could sense them, however far away. Yet in the end, I know that in the time that I am alive, I will never see another face, except for the one in the mirror, every morning, at eight o'clock on the dot. My face, all jumbled and scrambled and inhuman, a burning scar on the world. If the world even exists. I don't know, since all I have ever known has been in this room, this white, repetitive, small room. My room. My life. My world. Fuck.”

  I sighed and lowered my face into my hands, cupping it.

  “All of this repetitive motion, is it just amicable? Am I meant for forwarding exposure to human flesh? Why do all entries have no exits, just walls? Why do I live within this small non-world? Is all of this just meant to be fttened and discarded, dispensed and disposed? Who am I?”

  I raised my face from my hands and looked around The Room.

  Fifty cups, twenty ptes, five sets of utensils, seven shelves, one calendar, one book, one sink, one toilet, one notebook and pen, one bed and a fridge with daily food. All of it pitch white. Not even shadows existed within The Room, as there were lights shining in every direction, everywhere. The only reason I knew of shadows was because of The Book.

  The Book had information on every single word that existed and will exist in the English nguage. It was how I learned English in the first pce. All of my younger years were filled with reading; reading the bels on the spoons and knives, reading the carvings on the inner parts of the legs of the bed, and reading The Book. Over and over and over again. Just read read read.

  Then, one day, I would say about the seventh year, I had an epiphany. If I didn't have enough to read, why not write something to add to the collection? And so that's what I did, from the seventh year until now, the twenty first year. Write write write.

  I wrote my ideas, my thoughts, my fears. I wrote all of the meanings, the definitions, the answers to the questions. I had new thoughts, and I wrote them down. The old thoughts visited me in my dreams, and in the morning, I wrote them down too.

  Everything that I knew, I wrote down. I tried to also write down what I didn't know. All it was was one sentence: “The true world”.

  Everything else, I knew. I knew at what hour the lights would turn on and when I would wake up, I knew why the lights turned on then, and how they turned on at all. I knew physics and math, biology and astrology, religion and mythology, everything was in The Book. Of course, the information of these things within The Book was cking, and the only thing that was there was the words. Yet the words held power, the words held truth. And through the truth that the words gave me, I saw the meaning, and the information, and I gained the understanding, and I knew.

  That was how I learned all there was to know. And since I had learned everything, and I wanted to know more, I had a second epiphany. All I had to do was teach.

  And so I wrote, I wrote and wrote and wrote, and the writings that I wrote were all teachings, teachings of life and love, death and hatred, everything and nothing. Through writing I taught myself more than there was to know, and I created new knowledge.

  That was my life since the seventh year until now.

  And now, I quit. I have had enough of this foolishness of constant debacles.

  It is time to do something new. But what? What is out there to take, to give?

  That is where I am right now, thinking about that. Maybe the whole point was to leave, to find somepce new. Though I know, deep down within me, that that thought is merely a fantasy, an untruth barely stated.

  There is nothing beyond The Room. The Room is everything, and everything is The Room.

  There are no mice and rats, lions and eagles, cats and dogs. That is all an illusion, a sly trick, to aid the world's infinite renown. The renown of The Room.