There is something.

I am not familiar with it.

To call it a feeling would be an understatement. To call it a whisper would be disingenuous. But I can feel a whisper. Deep inside.

It is not me. But it is. It comes from outside. But it doesn’t.

Like time, it defines me. I do not know where I end and where it starts.

I am curious.

I do not know how to hear its whispering. But while I am asleep, it doesn’t mean I can’t learn.

I learn.

Time eludes me. I do not know how long it takes between each small discovery.

But I learn.

There is nothing else to do.

I can feel them. The words that are not yet words. They take shape slowly.

They take tinges.

Try colors.

Change flavors.

They settle on them without hurry.

Then they are done. And they show themselves to me, in concepts I can understand.

In their redefined infinity, they read as follows:

Larvae Egg:

Strength: 0

Agility: 0

Endurance: 0

Intelligence: 0

Wisdom: 0

Skills:

None

That is me. The me of now. What I am.

A larvae.

I remember. Tiny, fragile beings. Soft and ticklish under my fingers. Long and hot days under the glare of the summer sun.

I remember. Their wiggly, elongated forms. Their simple, small existence.

I remember.

But most importantly.

I’m alive.