![[key]Stroke my Ego](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fWKc1fIeA9w/TGeRdeTCB_I/AAAAAAAAACg/XxnXVrudQrg/S1600-R/TITLE+HEADER+3.jpg)
Sunday came and went and Qwerty was alive. The ten fingers, not leaving a single trace of their involvement with the birth of Qwerty, watched from behind a glowing screen. From there they monitored their creation: his every thought, his every action. They monitered but they had sworn that they would not interfere with his journey through life. The life that they had given him. Instead, they watched on, recording every move that Qwerty made hoping that his decisions would be the ones best suited for him. And from that moment, the ten fingers became nothing more than a myth.
At a loss for what had happened prior to his awakening, Qwerty stumbled, disoriented, through a world of white. How did he come to be and why did he come to be were questions written illegibly across his mind. With no reason to exist, he would be doomed to fester in a state of confused anguish for the entirety of his life. He knew one thing for certain, he was able to think therefore he knew he was alive, and the cartesian in him sought out a reason to justify that very fact.
'I think, therefore I am...but I am because of what? and I am because of why?' He had no leads to what it was that he needed to do to find closure to these questions. And so on he meandered, not knowing what direction he was headed because everything surrounding him was nothing but white.
His walk continued, the questions in his mind perpetually pestering him. It was clear that peace would not come easily and that the demons of the uncertain would eventually get to his well-being. He needed to find a solution. A solution that would counter the questions in his mind and remove it from its ranking in his personal priorities. Days turned into nights and nights into days and still he was none the better from when he opened his eyes for the first time. The darkness of the uncertain growing larger within his being began to threaten consuming his heart. Slowly the white's luminesence grew weaker and shades of grey began to manifest around Qwerty.
Being an entity newly created in a world of nothing but white, Qwerty looked on in fear at the crops of grey that began to spread throughout his surroundings. What was happening around him? Would the grey eventually swallow up the very foundation that his world stood upon? Where was the white disappearing to? This turn of events could not have come at a worse time for Qwerty, for as baffled as he was before the grey began to appear, he was now in complete and utter confusion at the changes surrounding him. He began to run but the grey patches followed him. They came more frequently and as they began to meld together, his heart began to lose hope. Hope for finding the answers to his questions, hope for making sense of anything at this point.
His heart faltered and his mind began to do the same. He stopped running and fell to his knees. He had given up and now waited for the grey to consume him. He sat and he waited and as the grey began encroaching upon him, it finally struck him. An answer! Although it was an answer in the singular, it was still an answer. The manifestation of the grey was his fault. His fault for letting his heart be consumed by anguish. It was then that he knew that his surroundings were governed by what his heart was willing to exude. What he was willing to exude. And in that moment, a bright speck of white pierced through the gloominess of the grey. It was like a ray of sun and it touched Qwerty. First on the hand, then on the wrist. It had begun to spread and Qwerty felt an overwhelming sense of comfort as the white began to embrace him. There was happiness in the whiteness, a warm happiness that Qwerty felt for the first time since he opened his eyes. And from then more answers began to fill his mind.
Qwerty was alive, he existed. It mattered not from where his existence originated, because now the only purpose he had in his mind was to hold on to the feeling of immense comfort and happiness that the white light allowed him to feel. He now had a purpose and he now had a lead. His existence would be alright after all.
And as the grey began to disappear, just over and beyond the growing whiteness, ten fingers danced happily in front of a glowing screen. He will be okay they chanted, tapping exhuberantly across the keyboard, everything will be okay.
At a loss for what had happened prior to his awakening, Qwerty stumbled, disoriented, through a world of white. How did he come to be and why did he come to be were questions written illegibly across his mind. With no reason to exist, he would be doomed to fester in a state of confused anguish for the entirety of his life. He knew one thing for certain, he was able to think therefore he knew he was alive, and the cartesian in him sought out a reason to justify that very fact.
'I think, therefore I am...but I am because of what? and I am because of why?' He had no leads to what it was that he needed to do to find closure to these questions. And so on he meandered, not knowing what direction he was headed because everything surrounding him was nothing but white.
His walk continued, the questions in his mind perpetually pestering him. It was clear that peace would not come easily and that the demons of the uncertain would eventually get to his well-being. He needed to find a solution. A solution that would counter the questions in his mind and remove it from its ranking in his personal priorities. Days turned into nights and nights into days and still he was none the better from when he opened his eyes for the first time. The darkness of the uncertain growing larger within his being began to threaten consuming his heart. Slowly the white's luminesence grew weaker and shades of grey began to manifest around Qwerty.
Being an entity newly created in a world of nothing but white, Qwerty looked on in fear at the crops of grey that began to spread throughout his surroundings. What was happening around him? Would the grey eventually swallow up the very foundation that his world stood upon? Where was the white disappearing to? This turn of events could not have come at a worse time for Qwerty, for as baffled as he was before the grey began to appear, he was now in complete and utter confusion at the changes surrounding him. He began to run but the grey patches followed him. They came more frequently and as they began to meld together, his heart began to lose hope. Hope for finding the answers to his questions, hope for making sense of anything at this point.
His heart faltered and his mind began to do the same. He stopped running and fell to his knees. He had given up and now waited for the grey to consume him. He sat and he waited and as the grey began encroaching upon him, it finally struck him. An answer! Although it was an answer in the singular, it was still an answer. The manifestation of the grey was his fault. His fault for letting his heart be consumed by anguish. It was then that he knew that his surroundings were governed by what his heart was willing to exude. What he was willing to exude. And in that moment, a bright speck of white pierced through the gloominess of the grey. It was like a ray of sun and it touched Qwerty. First on the hand, then on the wrist. It had begun to spread and Qwerty felt an overwhelming sense of comfort as the white began to embrace him. There was happiness in the whiteness, a warm happiness that Qwerty felt for the first time since he opened his eyes. And from then more answers began to fill his mind.
Qwerty was alive, he existed. It mattered not from where his existence originated, because now the only purpose he had in his mind was to hold on to the feeling of immense comfort and happiness that the white light allowed him to feel. He now had a purpose and he now had a lead. His existence would be alright after all.
And as the grey began to disappear, just over and beyond the growing whiteness, ten fingers danced happily in front of a glowing screen. He will be okay they chanted, tapping exhuberantly across the keyboard, everything will be okay.
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