The world ends here, he said, pointing to the deep abyss. All that we do is come till here and look at the abyss in wonder. The only thing that had ventured beyond that is no more, he added. Everyone looked at him. He was an old man with tattered clothes and a limp. No one knew how he became the curator of the abyss. The visitors were curious. What could've gone beyond the end of the world? What could've dared to jump into that abyss and survived? What on earth was that? The old man cleared his throat once again and muttered under his breath; imagination, without it the world will end.
He couldn't keep count of the days or nights as he was always surrounded by darkness. No he wasn't blind nor did someone blindfold him. He fell in to a deep dark hole that's all. He was rushing to catch the last train home. Since it was getting late he decided to take the shortcut. Before he fell, all that he saw was a lamppost by the tracks. The impact of the fall switched off the lights in his brain. When he recovered, it was dark. He tried to feel his way around. But to his surprise all that he could feel was the darkness around him. It was as if he was encased in a thick gooey dark liquid. It held him tight. It moved with his movements. It felt as if he was part of the liquid. He floated in it. He never felt hungry or cold. In fact he felt comfortable. For the first time, he felt safe. Slowly he began to forget what he was and whom he knew. In this darkness, it was impossible to wrack his brain. Everything was slowly getting shrouded in darkness. Until that day when he ...
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