We witnessed the end....and then we began.

It all started with a single, infinitesimal point of light. A tiny dot at the center of nothingness, a spark in the endless sea of eternity.

Nothingness hadn’t won the universe, not yet. It had attempted to overwhelm all living things, but a tiny dot of light remained. So small, so fragile, it might as well have been negligible. But, it persisted.

Like an eye opening in the dark, the eye perceived. And vast space spilled out. The little dot had memories. Memories of a world overflowing with sky. Peaks and crests of vast mountains. Oceans roiling with tempestuous waves. All of these things and more, were remembered by the little dot.

At the end of time, only that little dot could envision things that once were. But it envisioned everything. The memory of existence longed to persist. All of the living things that had once lived sank into the vault of a tiny eye, lingering in the dark.

There is nothing left in the world but a quiet longing. A longing to be. To dash, to scream, to love, to sob, to gasp, a longing for exhilaration, to be manifest.

Is an idea, without a shape, without a form, enough to constitute existing?

And so the flicker of light, stranded in eternity, began to dream. In that dream, the dot heard a voice. It sung, so quietly, so beautifully, a song that eviscerated the emptiness. In the dream, the dot was floating through a lost world, searching for the source of the song.

Towering pines, howling wolves, an ocean of sand, a gust of wind that became a hurricane. All were swirling in the piercing melody of that music. And so without form, a speck of dust in an illusory memory, the dot kept following the current of the harmony, like a spiral staircase that sunk down and down, raising and drowning cities, and stars, and all things that once were, arising and descending like the sun.

And the light saw the source, the shocking song that harboured the soul of the universe, glowing and dimming, impossible to see but impossible to ignore. The dot was pulled inward, the gravity of a black hole that was undeniable. The shapes of the lost world began to distort, to spin, and disappear into a mosaic of color and geometry.

“Is this the end of everything?”

It asked, the lone voice at the terminus of existence .

The silent memory of the world plunged into the void, and so did the last particle of light ever to embody it.

But it was not afraid, as the song rose like phoenix from the void. The song, the source, the sad and joyous voice of existence.

When everything went dark, the blackness was impregnable.

All that was left was a song.

And that song was where the universe began again.