The circle and the room

The circle has no end. The circle has no beginning. The circle is everywhere. Imagine a life wherein every breath, every moment, every choice was the beginning of a circle; imagine a life of concentric circles, a mistake is made only to be repeated, a promise only to be broken. A circle in a circle and on and on, a staircase spiraling upwards or spiraling downwards, I know not, for men are not privy to the circles. Despite the presence of many, at a point, at a single moment, man will be aware of only one circle, ignorant of all the others suspended alongside. Subtlety is a gift of the gods and the other celestial beings, as is humor amongst other things. Man sees only the surface and is content with that.

The circles were in actuality, the rolls of  parchments, the scrolls tightly bound by the men of the translucent grey. The circles never stop. Never is there a pause or a break. The halls of Remembrance echoed with the scratches of the quill and the snap of paper, wound up with caution and care and stowed away into the drawers set aside for every man born. A section of the halls were restricted to every memory man for these were the drawers of their lives before their entry into the halls of Remembrance. Every memory man was allotted a narrator, rich timber voices stood alongside them, dictating and watching along with them. Their work was so methodical and consuming and that often centuries would go by before they even exchange two words with each other. They were forbidden to colour the circles. They were forbidden to care.

The halls led to a room where few were allowed. The room was white. The essence, the meaning, the very basis of white made the room. Imagine a compilation of every single man, woman and child’s white; it could be the frail white of the lilies of the valley or the billowy whites of the clouds above, ecstatic bridal white or the frigid ice of death itself. The room was white.

Every memory man descended to this room at some point or the other. They never returned afterwards. Their robes of grey begin to lighten and luminate as the time sets upon them.

This was the Room of Oblivion.


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