The Unthing

Chapter 1 White
It is him, White. His name is White. I can remember that White is the first one. The first one to be. White does not know this. I have given him the benefit of being. And, not knowing this fact, White values being very much I might say. Much more than anyone else I had ever seen before, he does. Of course he was the first one to be, and the first one I saw. I made White, for a reason the author does not understand fully, and will not include in this story; anyway, let me begin.
Aha! Now I remember. It was a cave. It is a cave. It is filled with color. This cave had grass, on the floor, the walls as well, and even the ceiling. It was White’s cave. He once liked it. Sometimes he got cold, sometimes warm, sometimes scared, sometimes even tired. This cave had been home for White since he could remember, since he was just beginning to be.  White spent most of his time inside his cave. But it so is the day that White doesn’t feel totally satisfied with this. What he loved to do most, he could not always do. He treasured, he treasures anytime the climate is optimal; for only at some occasions he could do this. I think.
Oh yes, right now it is Gray. Oh oh, Mr. Gray is the second one. I am not sure if he goes by Mister Gray. Anyway, it is Gray that wasn’t my fault, or was it? The author does not really know. The point is, Gray is White’s direct descendant; his son. Gray was indeed raised by White. White indeed raised Gray.
White treasured when the climate was optimal for one thing; and one thing only. This was, stepping out of his cave. Looking up into the place where nothing was. The place where he could not see for sure if anything existed; except for one thing. One very significant thing he admired. Such a thing that he called the  “Unthing”. A small, almost insignificant glimmer of light in what was the dark, cold, bitter of nothing. He looked up into space, when the climate was adequate, to always find this thing. And oh what a loyal, magnificent phenomenon it was to him. Sometimes it was up, sometimes it was in front of him, sometimes hiding behind him; but it was always there, that thing. A glimpse extravagantly smaller than himself, he thought. No bigger than anything he had ever seen; but greater than anything he had ever admired, it is. He loves it, adores it. He waits all day for it to become dark, and he steps out of his cave. He holds up his eyes. Searching he turns to his back; and finally around, to find it sitting in front of him.
“That is, my son Gray, the ‘Unthing’. “ White lectures his boy, Gray. They both stand in the cold facing the Unthing.
“Why the Unthing?” turns Gray to ask  his father.
“It is the Unthing, because it is not like anything else. There is no thing that can be possibly as great as that is.  Can’t you see? Just stare into it. It has no equal thing. Every thing is dark, when the Unthing is as bright as can be. Every thing falls to the ground, when the Unthing never does so. “

And so on, White continued to go out and stare at the Unthing for as long as possible; and as long as sufficient.  And I say as long as sufficient because it so became the day, that White wasn’t entirely pleased with this. Like he hadn’t been satisfied with his cave, he now wasn’t satisfied with only staring at the Unthing. As much as it wasn’t a thing, he desired over all things to find out anything about it.  Why didn’t it ever fall down? Could he touch it? How does it feel? Could he come closer to it? Why does it shine?
•••
Chapter 2 Gray
But White soon came to the end of his being, as I designed it. Fortunately, or unfortunately, his questions still are. Gray grew up to all of these questions. Gray grew up, like his father, to wonder just more, and more about the Unthing.
Oh jeez, I’m sorry, it seems I have made a mistake. Or I am making a mistake. Right now is not Gray, but Black. Gray was, and Black is now. White certainly is not now. He was… and a long time ago. Black is Gray’s direct descendant; his son. Black was indeed raised by Gray. Gray indeed raised Black.
Gray loved as well when he could admire the Unthing. But like his father, he wasn’t pleased with that only. Gray wished to know way way more of  about the Unthing. In fact, Gray is determined to answer all the questions he and his father White had come up with; and maybe several more. So then, Gray did not sit around like his father had done. He did not waste more time. Gray walks out of his cave every night, to find a pattern in the Unthing. When Gray walks out of his cave, the Unthing is behind his cave. After several hours, it will be above. Then it will appear directly on top of him; to finally fall down once again, in front of his cave.
“I will catch the Unthing”, is what Gray thought. He one day climbed on top of his cave, hoping to shorten the distance between him and the cave. He then put himself to work rapidly. Assembled a big pile of raw matter which he placed right over of his cave. White began to build a latter.
“I will catch it when it comes above me” for he thought that would be closer than walking to the horizon. And so the raw material assembled into a strong table; and then a second layer, and so on. Gray built, and built. Because if Gray could reach the Unthing; then nothing else would matter. No other thing would bring him as much joy; as reaching the one Unthing he wanted.
“My son Black, that is the Unthing.” Gray lecture’s his son.
“Why the Unthing?” he replies.
“It is the Unthing because it is not a thing. Every thing is dark, when the Unthing is as bright as can be. Every thing falls to the ground, when the Unthing never does so. And, I want to reach it.”
“Why do you want to do so?” Black inquires.
“Because believe me son that nothing could possibly give as much meaning anymore. It is the Unthing, because all the other things don’t matter. If I am to reach it, the cave could might as well shatter, and our senses might as well numb us; for there’s nothing in totality, that would feel just quite like it.”
Everyday he goes out, and builds another layer to his latter. And everyday he hopes that he might feel the Unthing.
And so the days pass. He builds one, and another. Then he has to get more matter for his latter; and he does. And he climbs down, down to the Unthing. He has gone up, so up, that he begins to believe that maybe up might be down, and down might be up. He has chased his love for so long, that he’s cave has become just another point in space. He can only tell apart which way to go, by roughly continuing the path of his latter. But this isn’t enough, for he still cannot reach his love.
He must build farther, and closer. He must, yes he must reach it. But how is this possible? How can this be? Why does this happen? Gray builds and builds; but the Unthing never seems bigger, or closer for that matter. Has he gone crazy? His latter begins to mean squat now. He jumps to the Unthing, but he does not know if he jumps up or down, or left or right. He can only know that he must have it. He was desperate. It is now so much worse, because he can see it anytime, at any moment. Sitting there, moving through space taunting him. He builds more; so much more that, he can no longer see where his ladder started. It is now lost in the immensity of space, as much as he is. How can this be!? He is trying so hard, and giving so much. It is as if every time he gets closer, and closer the Unthing moves farther, and farther. He cannot have it. He cannot get it. He does not reach the Unthing. He has tried every thing to get there. He has given up every thing he has; and then he dies.
Just as his father before him, he ceases to be; as I designed. He couldn’t reach it when he was, and he won’t reach it now that he isn’t.
All hope is gone.
Oh but I’m forgetting Black! I am honestly sorry. Right Black, Black has not ceased to be… I believe.
•••
Chapter 3 Black
Black experienced his father ceasing to be. Ceasing to be before getting his prize. He’s father tried every thing to get there. He gave up every thing he had. But Black guessed, that is why it is called the Unthing, there is no other thing it can be traded for.
Experience had shown, reaching the Unthing was not possible. Through the means of possibility it’ll be impossible. It was not true, to catch a thing that was not a thing. And to catch the Unthing, Black had to do the untrue. And it is not true indeed, for Black did the impossible.
Black did not jump up, or down. He doesn’t jump. He just goes. He left the latter far behind him, and headed for the Unthing. Unique in it’s form, the Unthing leaded Black through the emptiness, to reach what nobody else had. Black just goes. Black left the latter, his father, and his father, way back in the subconscious of the universe. Doing so, Black does the untrue. Black reaches the Unthing. Black has done it. He’s done it. Black can feel the Unthing. It is for Black. He owns it, he has reached the unreachable.
But so it is the occasion, that Black will not like this. If he has reached what must be reached, what else is there to be? If he has finished the story, what else will he read? He has nothing to follow. Nothing to be.
Black watches the Unthing vanish before his eyes. And that is true. It isn’t his anymore. The Unthing is no longer.
And for a reason the author can understand, Black does not mind. Black does not care if the Unthing has vanished. Black does not care if what he reached was not true.
And for a reason Black understands, the Unthing must vanish. The Unthing must not be reached. The Unthing must be untrue.
Black has done the untrue, and will do so again.
Black takes out if his being, what seems to be nothing. He pulls out of his being, another Unthing, and throws it to space. Far away from his grip, but close enough to his desire.
“This is so a thing, it will be the Unthing,” he says.
He makes the untrue, to create what is true, and will always be true.  He creates the Unthing, to have something to follow. He creates the Unthing, so it shines once again.