Falling

I fell today.

I fell yesterday.

I fell the day before, and the day before that.

I have been falling for the past several billion years.

I have been falling for so long that I can no longer discern up from down, moving from stationary, or where I end and the environment around me begins. I’ve fallen so deep that no matter how close I look, even if I place my hand to my face, I can no longer see anything. I know I still have eyes because I can feel them shift around in their sockets when I rapidly look side to side.

I only know that I still exist because I have felt, and at times seen, the passage of time. I am painfully aware of each passing second. Over 31.53 billion seconds in each millennium, multiplied by however many millennia I’ve been falling. In fact, when I fell, the earth on which you are reading this hadn’t been created yet.

I cannot see with my eyes, but I see with my mind. I’ve seen each new planet, moon, star, meteor, and every other physical entity come into existence.

I’ve seen each dimension, each timeline, each perceived reality, and each consciousness come into existence. I feel and see each new soul that is created.

I can see and feel all of these things that no one else can, yet I cannot see or feel myself.

I have been falling endlessly since I decided to get closer to the pit. Why did I do that? Why did I let my curiosity get the best of me?

In the world, timeline, and position in the time-space continuum in which I originated, my physical plane of existence was quite small compared to the one in which you are on. I think the best way to describe it in a way you may be able to comprehend would be that my entire planet was the size of North America in your world at the time of this transmission of data.

Like your world, my planet was mostly water. The only land mass was a round, disc-like ellipsis with a gaping hole in the center. Most of my kind (we are not at all like humans in appearance nor capabilities, but will be referred to as “people” for the rest of my communication with you and your kind, to make it a little more familiar) were innately terrified of the hole. I’m sure if your species were to have one it would be used as some sort of sacrificial or executional device, or perhaps a place to dispose of dead creatures. It’s one of those ridiculous, useless, and barbaric things you humans seem to cling so tightly to in the name of tradition or religion.

I’m not saying religion is bad or useless, because gods (or what you believe to be gods) are very real. In a way, I guess you could consider me a god, but that’s beside the point. I just wanted to throw in a little disclaimer since another odd feature of the Homo sapiens is becoming very defensive and sensitive when it comes to ideas and opinions, especially those which don’t align with one’s own.

Anyways, everyone was afraid of the pit. The few people who did try to study it all unanimously concluded that it was unsafe and whatever fell into it never came out, nor did it make a sound indicating a collision with the bottom. It eventually became off-limits, and anyone who dared to approach its edge was swiftly apprehended and relocated after a lengthy, stern lecture.

I was always a curious, fearless, and somewhat rebellious child. The pit really drew my attention and I had spent probably the equivalent of 2 whole years of your perception of time being lectured and reprogrammed. They tried to remove whatever glitch that was inside of me that prevented me from being afraid of the pit, but they could never identify or locate it, so I just continued to be intrigued by the pit.

When I was around 650 years old (again, speaking in terms of your perception of time; in terms of development it would be around the age of 10-12, just as my body started to sexually mature) I decided to see for myself if the talk of it being a bottomless pit was just rumor or fact. I decided I would be the test subject.

In my adolescent mind, it made complete sense. I now wish I hadn’t done it, but not for the reasons you’d expect.

My regret wasn’t because I missed anyone. Unlike humans, my species is incapable of forming social bonds. We have societal structures and standards but no meaningful relationships with one another. You would probably feel very lonely, but for us it’s more of a hassle to have emotional connections than it’s worth.

My regret wasn’t because I feared missing out on things or the small, seemingly mundane events of everyday life. It wasn’t because I would never have my favorite foods or enjoy my hobbies again.

My regret was because it is extremely boring and even though I want to put an end to this incessant falling into nothingness, I’m not even able to, because even if there was some way to destroy my physical vessel, my consciousness, or what you would consider my soul (since my kind lacks souls), would still remain trapped in this endless void.

You may think that I could never become bored of seeing all the things I mentioned earlier, but just like watching numbers change on a clock or listening to a song on repeat for too long, it becomes increasingly dull and repetitive. I want to do something, create things other than living creatures, feel something tangible again.

I wish I would just hit the bottom already. Maybe whatever awaits me at the bottom will be interesting enough to make the fall worth it.