The table the man directed you to accommodated every fruit and vegetable. It housed trays of roasted chicken, turkey, ostrich, beef, and all type of meat you could imagine. Honey filled jars, sugar heapped on plate, bread; fresh out of the oven, milk in transparent jugs, and butter clustered together and everything was within reach. As though the cluster of food understood you, it only made visible that which you ate and you dug in. The oval table looked like it could contain a hundred men if not more, yet only you and the man sat before the mountainous food.

The man balanced on the head Throne, because it looked nothing of a chair, nibbling on a strawberry, legs crossed. As always, the hood of his red robe was over his head so only his lips down to his grey streamlined goatee was visible. Earlier, from the visible part of him, you had noticed his dark pigment and the gold bangles around his arm. When he had spoken, a gold canines —Longer than normal — became visible.

“Are we the only ones here?” You broke the silence.

“Is that what you want to know?” His voice was...

“No, but...Who am I? Where am I? How did I get...”

“Shhhh,” He crossed his lips with a finger. The finger was long and frail. “Hollow be thy questions.”

He picked another strawberry, ate the top and spat it out then nibbled on it. Your hands were soiled from holding food, then again, it wasn't soiled because you must have eaten what wouldn't soil them. You wanted to speak but an inner voice told you to maintain the silence.

“You have no peace,” He broke the silence, then gestured around the white surrounding. “That is why you are here.” Maybe, it was meant to explain something but it only complicated everything.

“What do you mean I have no peace...where are my parents? Do I have parents?” you waited a little and added, “Who are my parents?” Maybe, you were kidnapped and heavily drugged. You should not ask such questions. One's parents are not something one just forgets.

He didn't answer immediately. It would have been better if there was something else: a picture on the white wall, someone other than the man or the mountainous food to focus your gaze while the silence hung.

“You saw me and I saw you. That's all i have to say. You have been chosen.”

It did not make sense. “I don't understand you.” You had more pressing issues. “Why can't I see, but can feel myself?”

“What do you mean you can't see yourself? Wiggle your toe.”

“eh?”

“I said, wiggle your toe.”

You heard the first time and had wiggled it under the table, but you raised it to view and did it again.

“Did you feel that?”

“Of course, it is my toe.”

“So why did you say you can't see yourself?”

“I just...I...Can you see me?”

“Of course, I can see you.” His lips broke into a smile and with the hood over his head, you couldn't tell if it reflected in his eyes. How did he even see? “But thy is a source and not an entity.”

A source? You questioned inwardly. “What is my name?” You followed up. Lots of questions swirled in your head.

His reply stretched to wear out the tension “Do you want one?”

You nodded.

“It will come. Be patient. A name isn't something you force.”

You nodded again. Unfortunately, you thought you had a lot to ask but you didn't know anything; didn't know who you were or where you were. You didn't know anything. You seemed to have just happened.

Although, when killing that bird, vague memories came to you. you won't say anything to the man yet.

“Unlike yourself, I expected you. I knew you were coming.” The man said and picked something shaped like paw-paw and took a bite.

You pondered it while he chewed. He took another bite.

“Coming from where?”

“One who has no peace, has no place to come from. A Wanderer.”

“But I...” you were saying but he interjected, “I will teach you all you need to know to be prepared for who you will be.”

“Why did you ask me Kill that hen?”

“You failed the test.”

“Test? What test? I killed it, didn't I?”

“No, the wound inflicted aided death. It died on its own.”

“What test?”

“You have two strikes left.”

You wanted to say something but didn't know what to say.

“Your entity should feel weak. Don't worry, It happens once, just like the fire you had felt.”

“I won't feel the fire again?”

“You have eaten that which you will need.”

“Who cooked such mountainous food?” You gestured to it. The table still bustled with varieties. It seemed to replenish.

“I will tell you.”

“When?”

“There is no such illusion as time here, but because you are you, you are free to feel whatever.” He stood up and beckoned you to follow. His red robe swept behind him.

The room the man led you to had no windows, but it was ventilated. It had no light but it was as bright and white like the space you killed that hen, like the hallways, like the dining, like everywhere. The room was the same one you had seen on feeling this consciousness.

The first time you had felt this consciousness, it was this room your sight opened to. Blurry at first, but with time, your sight adjusted and took in the whitish surroundings. The first thing that had come to mind was death. You were dead. The whitish background could be nowhere else than heaven. Yet, for the few moments your eyes rambled around, no angelic voices sang praise to God. Just complete silence and whiteness.

Straight like one in a casket, you didn't move for a while, but when your brain sent the action to wiggle your right toe, it moved. Your fisted hands laid beside you. You slowly raised your right hand, turned it front and back to view all the features it had. You were sure you felt something, maybe even saw something but you couldn't comprehend anything. Your left hand gave the same feeling. You used the hands to feel your face, recognized the features. A thought came to you: Mirror. You had a full understanding of it but...

For a more tasking job, you raised your torso and it responded like your waist was recently oiled. You looked at the rest of your body; your stomach, thighs and the thing in between. You tried to see your back but you could only twist to a point. In the process, a crack ran up your spine. You looked around. Whitish structures, like sophisticated chairs with fork-like backrest protruded through the floor.

A door— which you had not noticed was there—hissed and slid into the wall. Through the opening, a man in red robe walked in. It was then you noticed his gold canines because he smiled when he came closer. You also noticed the dark shade to his pigment, and when he stretched to touch your shoulder, the gold bangles around his wrist jingled.

“Lay back,” the man gently pushed your shoulder and as though compelled by external forces, you laid back. You didn't want to lay back. “Rest. It is not meant to be.”

Your eyes closed on their own. The soft cushion of the surface you laid on was what your body needed. And the next time you opened your eyes, the man's hooded face hovered over you.

“How do you feel?” the man asked. 

Your head spun and the man's hooded face wavered and created a double image.

“It is called the rush,” he said.

Arrr... You screamed.

“And it is kind of painful,” he held your shoulder down and kept you from standing. “Painful... Yes...painful...” He sang, “It happens twice... At the beginning and end... You would feel as if your head is swelling like a balloon, or are you in the hammering phase?”

You stopped trying to stand since it proved impossible and focused more on the pain that rang in your head. Like a burning paper, the pain died down when there was nothing more to burn. The temperature of the space so much synchronized with you that even in a tensed state, you were not perspirating. Where were you?