Was it when it started? The darkness. Or nothing. Nowhere.

Darkness hurts when you are made of light. The White Person knows it. He knew that fact forever, because there is no time around him, but inside him. And when there is no time, everything is endless, meaningless. The pain. His whole existence was nothing but a fight. Each of his movements is a struggle against the dark. And the reason for it is simple: his whole existence opposes it. If it weren't for that, he wouldn't exist. He'd be dark himself.

The White Person could've just rest. It's easy: no move, no pain... He kept his fighting path instead.

Once (or never), he met something on his crusade. Something as black and dark as the rest, no, even darker. Yet it is different. A giant square, completely flat. It is different - it's dead. He touched it with a pinky. It answered, but not with hurt. There were waves on its surface. No... it wasn't dead. He placed both his hands on it. The entire surface began to transform into a picture of unprecedented beauty and craftsmanship. Even a simple glance can take away the breath of both an art critic and onlooker. Every detail is indescribable. After all, the White Person decided to stay. To stay for a little longer. No matter how long, as there is no time, but inside him.

He sat, kept his palms on it, and looked into the picture, enchanted. In search of what secrets it keeps.

It was where it all began. Or was it not?

• January 2026 Prompts!
• @sidekickmaterial

"oshiete oshiete yo sono shikumi wo" 🤣🤣🤣

If someone is reading this, it means that a certain responsibility has been placed on my shoulders by my own hands. Oh boy...