The Man and the Figure. Ch 1

Updated: Apr 22, 2020

A heavy mist settled on the empty desert, the deep black sand shifted beneath my feet as I strolled aimlessly, looking for something. What was I looking for? I could not remember, I knew nothing but the crunch of sand, and the dew of mist clinging to my skin. There was no sun in the sky, yet all was bright, the light of the landscape seemed self illumining and void of all semblance of shadow. No plants nor forms of life inhabited my empty visage, except for a tree on the distant horizon; far away and singular, alien and strange. What was I looking for? Where was everyone? I felt my face twist in a perplexed expression. Who is everyone? I did not know. All I knew was the lifeless light of the desert, and the tree which stood so proudly on the horizon.

The cold clung to my body, the bare skin of my naked body baked in the self light. I walked on, unknowing.

My feet left no print in the sand, and my breath made no sound in the silent mist. No thought nor sound could be heard, as I walked on. No question of where I was came from, no semblance of an idea of place at all, came to my mind, there was nothing but what lay before me. What was I looking for? Who was everyone? Their faces escaped my mind like shadows blending into darkness, only the desert in its self light filled my mind. The sands shifted with the changing of my thoughts, fearing no wind or stone, the grains swirled in a feverish pitch around me, and when I willed it, stopped entirely, and laid flat. Though for every time I willed the sand to be still, moments later it swelled once again, moving like water that had grown a soul. I played with thought for what seemed an eternity, watching them rise and fall in the bright black sand. Still I walked on, in the self light.

I wish I knew me.

The sands swelled to form a figure, with two arms and two legs, standing upright and tall. How strange. The sand shifted in the form’s figure, no distinctions or quality deformed it; it stood eyeless and still. It followed along my stroll through the desert, yet it had no footsteps, its legs moved with the sand, shifting endlessly, never the same in one moment to the next. Silently we strolled together. What was I looking for?


Why do you want to find it?


I wheeled round to see the formless figure, seeing into me. Fear gripped me in its familiar clasp. I raised a hand, and like a mirror, the figure silently raised its own. The sand of the desert beat itself like a drum, two beats then stopped. Two beats then stopped. It continued as I stood, facing the figure. I took a step towards it. It stepped away. The sand of the desert drummed faster still.


Who are you?

The sand of the self.

Why are you?

Because I am.


What an interesting character. The drumming of the sand slowed as I sat down, my body leaving no mark on its flatness; the figure crossed its legs in a strange way, and sat across from me. I stared into its formless face, pondering why it had no form.


I am form.

Then why are you formless?

Because I am figure.


The figure certainly had a strange manner of being. I had so many questions.


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