𝐘/𝐍: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐲!

PROLOGUE- Before the reaction!

... Just a concept of "CALAMITY" in a universe of white...

No color... No life... No sounds... All alone in this prison of white.

I create characters I wish to meet, knowing I'll never meet them...

I create worlds that I want to explore, knowing I'm trapped...

I create stories I desire to live in and experience for myself...

And even so...

Even if I wish all my heart and soul...

I'm still trapped in this prison of pure white...

So, what did I do...?

I continued to write...

I continued to create...

...I̧̻̬͖̯̠̻̓͋ ̷̘͕̑̆͐́͡Ç̵̪͔̳̱̞͙̳̺̀̚O̲̠̫̲͔̹̞͒͊͆ͩͯ̓͟͢N̋̎ͤ҉͎̬̭͜ͅT͉̱͒̑ͨ̌́I̳̖̪̿ͮ̽ͤ͑Ṉ̨̧̺͍͐́̊̇͗͒͠U̡̮̰̱͍̜͈̻̐͘ͅE̙̟̱̻̭̰͎̖ͬ͆ͪ͞Ḑ̢̙͙̺̺̲ͭ̀ ̖̰̜ͮ̌̀͗͛̑͟͜T͋̎ͫ̉̽ͣ̈́ͩ҉̳̗͢O̷̞̞̱̖̞̳ͤ̓̑̉́ͣͭ̔ ͙̞͖̹̞̩͚̺ͯ̔͂̄͒̏̽́R̫̮͓͚̾͌͂̏ͦ̚͜O̼̲̰ͤ͋́̎̿T̝̭̺͈̾̒͘ ͦͨ͏̵̫̙Ä̫̮ͪ̎ͯͅW̯̐̽̾̈́A̗͕̗̽͒̾͂̐̀͢Y̵̰̖͛ͤ̐ ̖͙̗͂̿ͧͧI̶̷͓͚̖̓̏ͬ͂ͧṈ̄̈̌̋͂T̤̬͕̦͈͇̠̃̑͋͠Ǫ͕̼̣̦̠̺ͫ̍ͪ̆̄ ̷͒͗́̇͏̶̗̱̖̟͇̠͈N̴͈̻̘̠̜ͩͤ̂ͧ̋͆̚͡͠O̶͌ͩͤͫͨ̈́ͩ͌҉̛͔̬̯͓̟͔̟̫T͔͙͙̟̻̟̠̰̋̄ͬ́Ḩ̵̸̹̩̞̣̦͇̘̓̊̍I̱̜͔̗̗̬̖̓̅̀͜N̡̜̮͖͊ͣ̍̌̓̃͜ͅG̝͍̺̊͑̓̄̉͋̚N̸̡̠̰̙͎͙̠ͬ͒́Ẹ͚̘͉ͫ̆ͤ̉ͩ̀̚ͅSͬ̈̈́̈͊̆҉̶̼͔̼̟̺͞ͅS̀ͩͭͮ̕҉̲!̶̧̮̳ͦͫ̑̀͡!ͮͮ҉̱̫̖̦̞ ...

P.O.V: ???

"... It has been so long since I made another story... But they all seem so simple and bleak lately... Is it because I feel trapped in this nightmare? Is it because I lack the experience in these fields? I Just want to experience of a free world for myself...

I cannot run, I cannot hide... I cannot even hope to experience the concept of freedom for myself... If there is a "God" in this world... Why have you abandoned me?"

The voice of a voiceless singer continues to let melodies leave their lips...

The eyes of the eyeless artist continue to watch and view their masterpiece...

The heart of a heartless lover still yearns for their forever partner...

What of the hands of the "GOD" that have all, yet nothing at the same time?

3rd POV:

Regardless, the body owned by the speaking figure began to stand before his cold, dead, lifeless eyes stared at the blank paper at his feet. This figure was a writer. A being within the confines of a prison he put himself in to escape his "reality." In his quest to find "Freedom," he found power. Enough power to become a "GOD" ... Yet, in return for that power, he lost the very thing he searched for...

With nothing to do, he sat down in the endless white void he had trapped himself in before finding an endless number of empty books. In his eyes, blank papers were not empty... They were a way for the mind to travel from one world to another. All that the page needed were words. So, the trapped writer sat down in his prison filled with empty books, and began to write...

"Once upon a time..."

"...The brave warrior..."

"...Embrace in his lovers touch..."

"...Smiled as he held her hand a final time..."

And with that, he finished writing his first story! It wasn't the best in his eyes. Not all characters were given happy conclusions, the story had so many holes and unanswered questions in them, the writer almost felt ashamed of himself... Yet he didn't abandon the book regardless of the outcome and aftermath. He held the book in his chest as if it were a child. Never letting go and giving the book life in a nameless world.