we are the fantastic

we are the fantastic, the quiet said as i fell through its impossible void, neither black nor white nor any other color nor anything at all because how do you assign a color or an absence of color or anything else to nothingness?  

"We are the ones that stand in opposition to your so-called realism, your modernism, your hollow, restrictive viewpoint," the Blind Man said, standing behind the black white [DATA EXPUNGED] of the Quiet yet somehow still visible to me. "You believe you know everything. We are here to prove you wrong."

Though I was falling through the maw of the primordial chaos, through the void that devours stories and all their worlds and characters, I still spoke. "How can you say that? You're just part of me. You're just a way for me to insert my own anxieties into the story. You can't write a story that's so overtaken by itself that it can't go anywhere."

aren't all of them?

and by then, i was no longer falling through the quiet's throat. i had reached its stomach.