• As time slipped by in a peaceful village where all, except Genji can grasp its name, the faint memories of his parents all but gone. Nights pass by like days only light by the candles that seem to be supplied in his sleep, lighting the room, making the shadows dance across the page creating words that came so natural to him, like that of his soft breath. The pages turning silently, it cutting through the thick air, making his world a little more livable with every passing whisper, fluttering out with every picture forming out of the words.

    The days being counted only by the food trays that piled almost as high as the books around it, though their numbers where greatly dwarfed in comparison. Information, though fragmented, was gathered, ever so slowly from the worlds that grew as the books tethered on the brink of crashing around him. Though his mind would have enjoyed the chaos it would create in this empty, though peaceful world, a voice, though his own, so alien to him. Breaking the silent atmosphere that held his heart at bay, the gathering of knowledge meant nothing without the opportunity to share it, but that with the empty echoes that coursed though the surplus of his mind.

    He wished for new books, and he was provided, then he wished for something more, and he was given the opportunity through his shiny new toy, that glistened with new found hope that some might find at the barrel of a gun. The words flowing through it, spreading the shadow of his mind into the white of nothingness, the timeless thought that held no memory, creating the stories that have been read, though lay forgotten in the every increasing echo through the corridors of his being.

    The voice said let there be more, and he fulfilled its wishes, wanting something new, he gave him new worlds to spill its blood on, and to taste the fresh characters that flowed from the clicks of the letters forming on the page. Though the world around him began to react, he paid no heed to it for his lack of true reality, though with him reality was that which he read, and he changed with the words that he provided. Creating friends, then letting them die, and finally turning his vision to the door which shrouded the world beyond his vision.

    It began with a few simple stokes on the keys, and it ended with the door hanging all but 5 feet above him, jammed slightly into the ceiling which he stared at slightly amused, at the changing truths that he created. Now meet with the outside world, its blood seeping from the very wall that held him away from the world that only words could describe, and as he took his first steps, new born to this world, his old world slammed shut behind him, as he turned back to only see mountains breaking their peaks into the blue sky beyond.