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Plains surround me as the silence did the night of your death. I came here from a far off land in the middle of nowhere; from a place I was very happy in, almost... too happy.

People there always told me I had the potential to do anything. I remember it all so well... especially all those times I was told I had something more to give to the world. Bigger than I imagined. Bigger than the world itself. In disbelief I'd say at the time, "Lies!" Ignorance is bliss after all, yet like the storm of magical encounters, ignorance also passes, never to return permanently, only in little drops of time that fall and converge with the rest of the river that composes time...never to be identified again.

The first time came from my father I was at least ten years old, maybe eleven, he told me with his powerful rough voice. "Boy! Listen to me! I don't care what you think now, but what you'll think then, and of course, maybe you won't even remember jack shit about what I'm about to say, and also maybe this is no way for me to talk to my young. Importance takes away all the negativity in my words. You are bigger than this! My son..." He paused for a moment to swallow since he was talking so fast and dramatically. "I'm officially the proudest father in the world." He stopped for good this time, yet I couldn't stop myself from asking him why, only to be given a blank answer, that was one of the pieces of the puzzle that was the final answer to said question.

"You will be a writer one day, and you will write everything. The world. All the worlds! The entire universe is in the tip of your pen, my boy!" My father ended with a smile and kissed my forehead with the fierce emotion of content in his face. That's my first clue.

Exactly seven years after that day, my dad passed away, he died of leukemia. I don't really want to talk about it, but... importance takes away all the negativity in my words. My mom was at least fifty seven years old when he passed on and he was at least six years older than my mom. The doctors had told him that same day seven years back, that he had been diagnosed with the sickness, and had only a few months to live if he didn't have any strong treatments. His demise was inevitable, but it was something we could at least persuade for another few years, and live with him until we were older and stronger in character. His decision to the treatments was negative, and he lived for seven years straight. He died peacefully in his bed, while sleeping the morning of my seventeenth birthday, and of course, those were the reasons he had for him giving me that speech of me ending up being a writer. Signs of his demise, and signs of my own maturity. His death, and my birthday.

A few days after my dad passed away, my mom came to me and hugged me stronger than she had ever hugged me before, she pushed me against the wall behind us at the time.

"Son, you've grown so much... please... take me with you this time.. " she said, with passionate eyes and her voice trying to seem seductive. The most awkward moment in my entire life right there. She took all her clothes off and started kissing my neck all the way down to my chest. I was frozen, scared and paralyzed...I can't deny, it felt good, cause hormones in a teenager are crazy for anything, even a broom with holes, but it felt wrong... it was horrible. Even after the event, my nerves were trembling, all my skin was feeling sore, and my muscles ached. I'm sorry... but I don't think my words can describe what this all mean. I wasn't meant to be a writer at all. Chilly, everything felt chilly and warm on the inside, painful, and painless at the same time. A turn of events that made no sense, even now looking back, the mental trauma that night left me... at least that's what the doctors say, causes me erectile dysfunction.

The neighbors heard her moans of pleasure coming from her house, they knew she was a faithful woman and that her husband had passed a few days back, so out of complete curiosity they passed by and what they found was the horrible image of a child, about to become a man, deflowered by his own mother... or at least, I was trying to avoid saying it, ...raped by his own mother.
Three police cars appeared and took her away.

She was encarcerated for life. The punishment wasn't harsh, but she was old, and weak... she wasn't going to last in there for long, especially now that she was about to turn fifty eight. While the policemen were getting her in the car, she struggled and yelled at me: "Son! I'm very proud of you! I'm officially the proudest mother in existence! You have the potential, you can do it! Grow a little more, and you'll be a great singer. You'll sing the sounds of the world, the sounds of the rabbits, of the snakes, of the trees, the storms, even the universe and the planets that it contains! Sing for me, sing for your father!" The second clue was revealed.

There was a third clue. My clear memory is a little blurry there. Even I thought that my memory was 99% perfect since it'd remember everything at the right time, for no apparent reason. That's the only percentage left, I can't remember that last clue.

I tried being both a singer and a writer. For neither of them I had potential. All my classmates thought I was horrible and should focus on getting another career. Something different, something that didn't require any kind of artistic thought or imagination for that matter. I didn't know anything else but reality.

A cold reality.

Suddenly, everything stopped. Every single moving, living, dying thing stopped. The sounds could not be heard, some were actually still animated, but no volume was implemented. Others were just frames staring into oblivion. Only I remained. Only I could move. What had happened? I grew scared, ran towards the nearest exit of the building I was in. It wasn't just in the building, it was everywhere. All was black and white. Or black and not white; white and not black at all. No music. No art. No life. I was already thirty five years old. The pursuit of my career was short since I thought I had no potential in anything, so I became a car salesman and started a normal life like everybody else. I had no skill making anything.

I could see the nearest edge into infinity, where the paint of nature would stop and fall down to nothing. What did this all mean? Questions I asked myself after I threw myself in.
I couldn't take the pressure, everything as I knew it had ended for me and I wasn't going to be the one who'd start it.
Falling forever, that was my new job. I happened to be very good at it, that was my punishment for living.

I did find that third clue though. It was in a piece of paper inside the back pocket of my pants. I found it inside one of those cookies at a Chinese Restaurant. It said... "You're going to be a father. A father to all." In the back I wrote all this, and threw it skyward. I could see it falling behind me. It was like a race, yet air somehow existed in the middle of nothing to interrupt its fall. I have no idea how air was the only thing that remained.

'Lalalala lalalala lalalala~ A whistle is heard everywhere.' Music cleansed our ears.

"I miss you mom, I miss you dad... now that the world is looking like this, and I'm falling eternally... I just wonder where you are." I said.  Emotion, feeling and the warmth of a mother and a father wandered somewhere in the distance.

Rain started falling everywhere from his very eyes.
"I wish I had somebody to hold on to." I said.  A beautiful maiden wandered somewhere in the distance.

"Better do something here or I'll die of boredom, well... it's not like I'll die anyways." I said.  Pleasure created within the trails of our body emerged and wandered.

"I'm so hungry." I said. Materials to fill our needs, to complete us, to make us grow.

"I wish I could just die..." I said.

And so... it happened. The universe was left unfinished, a masterpiece was left behind... it didn't need to be completed for it to be perfect. It was just there. A singer and a writer, even a painter. He was all... the greatest artist who ever lived, and for his art he died for.