Epilogue.
The room was dark; the sun was setting and letting in a tiny sliver of light that threw a few beams on the floor.
The shadows created patterns, but the occupant didn’t pay attention.
There was nothing there, a complete blankness, a slate wiped clean.
He sat in a room, rocking back and forth.
It wasn’t for comfort, or for any other reason; he just did it. Habit.
The lights flickered and came on with a startling flash, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t understand fear, pain, or shock; those words meant nothing to him. Emotion was a foreign entity. He didn’t even know hunger. If food was put in front of him, he ate; if given a drink, he drank.
There was one thing.
In his mind was an image: a beautiful woman. She meant something, but there was no thought process around her, just her face. A spark flashed, and the first thought he could ever recall happened. Who was she?
He cocked his head as he stared at the wall. That face and one question. That was the sum of his existence.