sun moon stars

The sky overhead grows dark as I speak to the Blind Man on a field made up of the pieces of digested worlds. 

i stare upwards, and i see what has happened. the quiet has consumed the countless suns and moons and stars that had entered into this world of the erased and undone.

i am no longer interested, the quiet says, in trying to persuade you. you, storyteller, are a fool who has written a repetitive story about something that nobody else cares about. you were pathetic from the start, and you have not changed since then. i am a symbol, but i am a force all my own, and i will not be shackled by your narrative.

I realize then that the Quiet is wrong. It is my narrative, and it was by my own hand that the Quiet consumed me, just as the Blind Man had said. It is by my own hand that the Quiet is leaving now.

And I think on what these pieces of myself have told me as they suddenly melt away into simply being part of myself, and I know that they are right.

There is no art made in a void. The worst aspect of creating this narrative of nothingness being the ultimate symbol of all metatextuality and self-reference wasn't simply that it was hypocritical, it was wrong in the first place.

To be perfectly honest, I still do not have much fondness, myself, for these types of projects. My personal preference continues to lean towards maintaining suspension of disbelief rather than reminding the audience that they are watching a movie or reading a blog. But I do recognize the potential value in this format, and I feel that writing this story has allowed me to better understand this format's ability to help creators work through concepts without having to maintain the illusion of fiction.