Depth of Darkness

    Darkness.  That was all he knew; it was all that existed here, in this accursed place.  He shifted about, mainly in an attempt to feel, hear, see, anything.  Anything at all.  He couldn’t quite recall how he got here.  In fact, now that he thought of it, he couldn’t quite remember who or what he was.
    He took little solace in the fact that he existed, for what, he wondered, was an existence without feeling, emotion, even other beings with which to share it?  That was another thing about this place, he couldn’t be mad, couldn’t feel the anxiety he knew he should be feeling.  No matter what he tried, he couldn’t feel anything at all.
    Simply by assuming there must be a floor below him, he created—for there is no better term for it—a dirt floor under himself, cold to the touch, but he was able to touch it.  That was what made the difference.
    With that, he began forming a room around himself: a stone-based room with a thatched ceiling.  Windows seemed to show nowhere in particular, that is, every time he looked, he thought he saw something but the images made no sense to him.  It was as if the windows played out disjointed parts of innumerable tales.  There was no order to the images; they were like him: they existed, but that tiny comfort made little difference.
    He began to ponder.  If he truly wanted to exist, he would need a name, for utterance of a name must carry some admission of existence.  He looked about, wondering for a moment if his naming might somehow disturb the sanctity of this self-made realm.
    What name would he wish for himself?
    Just then, a voice called out from the darkness, which again surrounded him, “you cannot tame the disorder here.  If you had pondered for the rest of your existence, an eternity, you would never have thought of a name.  Not a single name, for now, you have none.”
    He cried out with his thoughts, then you choose, one who believes himself greater than I.  There was no contempt in his mind, no mockery, for all the emotions that he had felt only moments earlier was lost in the darkness.  He absently groped at the blackness, as if searching for the things that made him.
    “That is for each one to find for himself,” the disembodied voice uttered.  “You will have to find your own name, just like all of the others.”
    The others?  But none are here but you and I?  How can I find what I need without guidance, or companionship, even?
    “Follow me, and I shall show you.”