Perhaps we shall ask the creator what it is like to live. They, who have made all, must be capable of explaining in intricate enough detail, what it is to be a child of life, so that we may understand it.

“Creator,” we speak. This is the first in a very long time since we’ve spoken. We hope the creator will hear us. “Creator. Are you there?” Our words feel as though they fall on deaf ears as they echo in the endless darkness of this space in which we exist. Silence. As if we are truly alone. This makes the cold feel more piercing for an unknown reason. “Our child, you wish to speak?” The creator’s voice suddenly responds. The chill that had brushed us had quickly left. We do not understand this, but this was not our question, so we shall stay silent about it.

“Creator. We come with a question for one who knows all.” “A question?” The creator responds in a curious fashion. We suppose this is natural since we have never asked a question before. “We will answer your question as best as we can.” We have succeeded in creating and opportune moment to understand something beyond our scope of vision. “Creator. What is life? What do the living see in their existence? We ponder these thoughts often, yet have no understanding of why they attempt to cheat our rule to continue on.”

The creator is silent. This quiet has more volume than any sound heard before. Perhaps this is too much to ask for our first question. “That is not a question I can answer.” The creator bluntly speaks out to us. They cannot answer? How can this be? Do they not know all? “You cannot answer? Is there something you do not know, or perhaps you wish that we do not know?” The cold feeling grows and begins to gain weight. It piles onto us, leaving us feeling heavy.

“This question cannot be answered by any one individual. It is something that comes through experience. We cannot explain the desire to live if we had not lived.” The weight becomes greater as the creator speaks. We cannot understand because we had not lived? It is something one must experience? “Why is this, creator?” We speak clearly, but we feel something when we speak. As though we no longer wish to converse on the topic.

“Our child. Each living being finds their own purpose in life. They each find their own desire. Things they wish to strive for. No one being can explain what is the reason because there are many reasons. No one can give one ultimate answer.” Once again, we cannot understand. There must be one conclusive answer to the purpose of sustained life. We… wish to see for myself. However, we are but a concept. There must always be Death.

“Your silence speaks. You have yet to understand our words.” As the pages of a book, the creator sees through us. “Yes.” We proclaimed softly. “We… desire opportunity to experience life for ourselves.” Another long pause from the creator. This silence makes us feel… unusual… compared to the eternal loneliness normally felt. Suddenly, a new feeling arises. “…You may join the living.”