Voice

There was a tiny pinhole of light fissuring in the vastness of Darkness. It really wouldn’t have seemed all that important unless it was taken into account that there was never any light in Darkness before. The pinhole of light was literally a phenomenon. The phenomenon became unfathomable when the light from the pin hole began to shake the universe of Darkness.

Darkness quaked?

The fissuring light began to spew matter across the void. Blues and reds and purples and violets spattered and glooped into the void. The pin hole expanded from a tiny point in Darkness to a splitting, swollen opening. Light was pushing too rapidly to exit the pin hole, when…

Eruption!

It was deafining!

White light erupted in spiraling streams emanating around a steady pillar of light from the opening. The pillar of light pushed endlessly through Darkness. The spiraling streams of light danced through Darkness like bolts of electricity from a static ball that children touch. Lightning bolted from the pillar of white light as well. The lightning was shades of green and yellow that once it reached its full extension, shattered into a billion pieces, leaving nebulae and stardust in its wake. Needless to say, the pin hole, if there even was a pin hole anymore, or at least the opening itself, was no longer visible.

Amidst the pillar of light, the gloops of reds and purples and violets, the spiraling white light around the pillar of light, the bolts of green and yellow lightning, he appeared.

If you were there, you wouldn’t have missed him. He was unlike anyone seen before. He was facing the pillar of light as it trekked through Darkness, as if the pillar was pushing him uncontrollably forward. He turned his head first, to position it so he could face toward Darkness. Slowly, he brought the rest of his body to the forefront, so that you could see plainly that he was indeed leading the procession that followed him.

He was transparent and definitive and solid and fluid all at the same time. He was full through and through, as if life vibrated voraciously inside him

A soft smile spread across his face as his eyes caught the eyes of Darkness.

Who was he? Perhaps, who is he?

He was and is Voice.

Voice began calling out through the expanse of Darkness. The strains and melodies of the vibration of his voice traversed through the entropy and defied the call from Darkness to cease and subsist. Darkness squinted his eyes at the reverberation encroaching upon his territory and thought to himself, ‘What do I do now?’

Because there was nothing before, it was hard to really measure how long Darkness had enjoyed his time of gloom and despair from the created. Darkness knew that he was no match for Voice. Not even Voice could dictate whether he would begin or end the light once the desire was set in motion.

Darkness had the outline of a man. Darkness that surrounded him paled in comparison to the darkness that he was and is. Darkness was deepest, darkest darkness. If you were there, you wouldn’t have missed him. His being seemed to defy all light. What set Darkness apart was his contrast from the rest of darkness. Nothing could exist in him and by him. The only part of darkness, apart from the outline, that you could catch was his eyes.

Darkness called out again, “Stop! Wait!” And finally, desperately, helplessly, “Please stop!”

But Voice chose not to heed. He simply passed on, undeterred by the vociferous cries from Darkness. The only response he supplied was his soft, easy smile spread across his face. It was not so much the reverberations of Voice that bothered Darkness, it was what was left in the wake of the waves from the pillar of light that followed Voice in his stately procession.

The wake of Voice.

The wake is what terrified Darkness.

There were hues of blue and white and red and orange and green and…

…every color imaginable. There were colors that will not be seen for another millennium escaping from the pillar of light. These colors began as single strands of color in the wake, but slowly, gracefully, the colors not so much mixed, but melted slowly into each other, like the painting board of a painter who has canvassed it with several colors as he creates his masterpiece.

And that’s what Voice was doing. Voice was painting his masterpiece. Not quite his magnum opus. That would come later. But for now, it was about the colors.

The colors swam across Darkness, and it could do nothing to stop it. No matter how much Darkness cried out against Voice and the colors, it was still powerless.

Darkness trembled.

(C) Aaron Brown, 2008