The myth of Nothing
By Arlene James
"How are you feeling right now?” I asked.
'I feel nothing.' she replied.
"What are you doing?"
"What do you mean by nothing?"
'I don't know! Will you just stop asking me questions? I'm busy.'
She continued looking at her laptop's screen, analysing it like it's a specimen of an unknown extinct creature.
I wonder how people respond with "nothing".
What is nothing?
Are they not aware of the fact that they're breathing all the way from the tip of their nostrils to the deepest depths of their lungs right now?
The fact that they're sitting upright on a wooden four-legged seat,
Their eyes looking around and observing new little details to store in their wrinkled brains.
Do they not feel the wind flowing through their windows,
The breeze grazing against their skin,
Begging them to stand up and look out of their sill?
How about the crows cawing and flying by, acting like an ominous jet?
What about the astronomical number of emails she's going through?
Are those nothing as well?
And what about the untouched bowl of sliced apples on her side?
And the cold cup of tea next to it?
I know, for a fact, that it's nothing.
The tree outside sprouting out bigger and stronger than her and I combined,
The dragon flies gliding through the air and disappearing through a vortex,
The melancholic sun, acting like a lamp for cheerful kids running about in circles;
The dried leaves falling down and creating an image of the orange-autumn,
The mail-man riding through the street with his van;
What must he be thinking of? Would it be nothing as well?
The new cut I got on my finger...
It hurt quite a bit.
I bandaged it up with a white strip.
But how would she notice all of that?
It's nothing after all.