We, who give to the void

I'm looking into a black room, devoid of anything and everything. Of light. Of sound. Of even an ounce of life.

I try to say something, but the words are drowned out immediately.

I try again, louder. To no avail.

I want to walk inside. It won't let me.

I want to take a handful of it but my fingers only meet nothingness when I stretch them out.

I want to fill it with something, anything. So it doesn't look at me so like emptiness.

I look down at myself and take a tiny piece of me. An old memory. Nothing too important but still something that is linked to my body and mind.

I hold it in my hands, shortly. And form it into something I think is beautiful. Rough, sure. Not very refined or particularly elaborate. But a pretty little thing to look at, nonetheless.

I give it a gentle push and it floats into the void.

I look at it for a long time. Nothing happens. It simply grows smaller as it increases the distance between us.

I am confused.

I can still see it. The void is not swallowing it like it has everything else I have given it. And then suddenly

I can see a flash of light. Brief.

I almost question my own perception. Has it really been there? Have I really seen it? Oh. There.

I see it again. And again. Twice, no three, four, five times more. Then it's gone.

I wait for a while. It's not coming back.

I feel something growing in me. A desire. A deep desire to see the flash appearing again.

I take another piece of me. An old one, too, but this one more important, more dear to me. More connected with who I am.

I push it, ever so slightly. It is precious to me, after all.

I only have to wait a split second this time before the flash comes again. And again. Again. AGAIN. AGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAINAGAIN.

I see light in the void. So much light suddenly.

I can almost make out that the void is not at all empty. There is something in there,

I just cannot see what it is because it's only ever bright enough for the blink of an eye. But then

I can hear sound. A faint clinging of wind chimes. Barely audible. Far, like it's coming from one room over.

I want to take a look but the void won't let me.

I give it more of me. More. More. More. MORE.

I form every bit of it.

I learn.

I notice the subtle nuances that make the lights and sounds appear more coherently.

I take more and more important pieces but sometimes

I don't give them to the void like they came from within me.

I change them to make more lights and sounds.

I can see it now. The lights are on for seconds, even minutes at a time. The wind chimes going cling clang cling clang in this room not the next.

I see a mirror inside.

I see a mirror and me in the mirror.

I am almost see-through in the mirror.

I in the mirror point to my left. The lights go out.

I want to take more of me. Want the lights to go back on. Need the lights to go back on.

I don't understand what I in the mirror wanted to say. But

I don't have anything left in me to give the void.

I am see-through like I in the mirror.

I look to my left.

Someone is standing there, staring into a void.

Someone gently pushes a piece of themselves into the void.

Someone is lit up by flashes from within.

Someone is blinking with curiosity, taking another piece out of their body and soul to give the void.

Someone is eager to learn its secrets.

Someone doesn't notice me watching them as they give themselves away.

Someone has taken the flashes of light. My flashes of light.

Someone doesn't see me disappear.

Someone never notices I'm gone.

No one notices I'm gone.