There was nothing.
Not black, not white. Not even the concept of color. It was a void so complete that the words 'empty' or 'full' had no business being there. It was the silence you'd hear if the universe held its breath forever.
In this absolute nothing, a single, soft orb of light floated.
It didn't cast light on anything, because there was nothing to cast it on. It just was. A tiny, self-contained sun with no planets, no purpose, just a gentle, pulsing glow.
Inside that glow, something stirred. Thoughts, like the first drops of rain after a long drought, began to form.
Okay. This is new. And weird. Really, really weird.
The thoughts belonged to Koro. At least, that's the name that floated up from the depths of his consciousness. Koro. A 21-year-old Ijaw boy from the creeks of Bayelsa. He remembered the smell of rain on hot earth, the taste of fresh banga soup, the sound of his mother's laughter. He remembered the struggle, the relentless, grinding pressure of poverty that felt like a heavy blanket, smothering dreams.
He remembered reading. Oh, how he read. Tattered, second-hand fantasy novels and web serials on a cracked phone screen. It was his escape, his only ticket out of his tiny room into vast worlds of magic and might. He'd close his eyes and imagine being somewhere else, someone else. Anyone with a full belly and a future that didn't look like a dead-end road.
But how did he get here? Where was 'here'? And what was he? This orb of light thing was a serious downgrade from having hands. He tried to wiggle fingers that weren't there. Nothing.
The initial confusion began to curdle into something darker, sharper.
Wait. Hold on. If this is… if I'm… dead? Is this the afterlife? A floating light show in the world's most boring art gallery?
The questions started to come faster, tumbling over each other in a frantic, internal monologue.
What is life, even? A bunch of stress and then you pop like a balloon? Why was I created in the first place? To work, to struggle, to always look at the price tag before eating? Why give me a brain that can dream of flying if my feet are always stuck in the mud?
A specific, bitter memory surfaced. Walking past a fancy restaurant in Yenagoa, seeing people his age laughing inside, carefree. The glass window felt like a barrier between two different universes. His universe was one of lack.
Why do I exist if I can't enjoy the vastness of the world? It's like being given the key to a library but being locked in a broom closet. What's the point? Why was I created just to suffer? And nobody even asked me! "Hey, Koro, you wanna be born into a tough situation and spend twenty-one years fighting for scraps?" I would've said no, thank you very much!
The orb of light pulsed a little brighter, agitated. The philosophical spiral was deepening, pulling him down.
So, what's the deal? Is Heaven real? Is Hell? I sat through enough Sunday school sessions to wonder. If Hell is real, is this the lobby? This boring nothingness? And God… does He exist? If yes, where did He come from? Someone had to make Him, right? Or did He just pop into existence one day and decide, "You know what sounds fun? Creating mosquitoes and malaria."
He was on a roll now, his thoughts taking on the familiar, slightly dramatic tone he used when complaining to his friends.
And if God is up there, are there others like Him? A whole cosmic committee? And the Devil… is he right? I mean, in all the stories, God's the one with all the rules. The Devil is just the guy who got tired of the meetings and wanted to do his own thing. Rebellion doesn't sound so bad when your life is a constant struggle against a system you never built.
The orb pulsed, shimmering with the intensity of his silent rant. He was building up a real cosmic-sized grievance. It was almost comforting, this familiar act of questioning everything. It was better than admitting he was scared, utterly and completely, of this endless nothing.
Then, a sound.
It wasn't a sound that traveled through air, because there was no air. It was a vibration that filled the void, a resonance that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. It was deep, old, and carried a weight that made the orb of light that was Koro feel impossibly small.
"Is this how you wish to spend your eternity?" the voice asked, its tone dry, almost… bored. "Monologuing?"
The shock was so absolute that every single one of Koro's frantic thoughts screeched to a halt. For a second, there was only stunned silence.
Then, the part of Koro that was a 21-year-old who'd seen too many movies and read too many comics took over. What would any sane person do when a disembodied voice interrupts your existential crisis in the literal void?
He screamed. A silent, mental scream that reverberated through his being.
AAAAAH! WHO SAID THAT?! SHOW YOURSELF! I HAVE A… A… WELL, I DON'T HAVE ANY WEAPONS, BUT I'LL… I'LL… GLOW AT YOU VERY ANGRILY!
The void seemed to sigh. A wave of pure, unamused patience rolled over him.
"Calm down," the voice intoned. "The dramatics are unnecessary."
Calm down? CALM DOWN? Koro's thoughts were a frantic shout. I'm a glowing ball in space-jail and you're telling me to calm down! Who are you? God?
There was a distinct pause, as if the owner of the voice was considering the question.
"No," it said, with finality. *"Not God. Think of me as… a facilitator. And you are at a crossroads. You can remain here, contemplating the unfairness of existence until the last star in the last universe winks out. Or, you can return."
Return? The word hit Koro like a physical blow. Return where? To Nigeria? To… my life?
Images flooded him. The leaky roof of his house. The constant anxiety about school fees. The empty pockets. The feeling of being left behind by the whole world. The shame. The struggle. The poverty.
No, he thought, the word sharp and full of a pain so old it felt like part of his DNA. No, I can't go back to that. I won't. I'd rather be a glowing orb forever than go back to that life. It was suffering. It was… hell.
The deep voice filled the void again, but this time, there was a subtle shift in its tone. It wasn't exactly warmth, but it held a certainty that was impossible to ignore.
"That," the voice said, "is a choice you do not have to make. The path you left behind is closed. A new one can be opened."
Koro's light flickered, confused. What are you talking about?
"I am telling you," the voice stated, its words simple, clear, and landing with the force of a promise, "you will not return to poverty."
The words hung in the void, shimmering with possibility. They were the most beautiful, unbelievable words Koro had ever heard. They were the answer to every prayer he'd ever whispered in the dark. They were the end of the road he thought he was doomed to walk forever.
The orb of light that was Koro hung motionless in the infinite nothing, silent, as the meaning of those seven words began to truly, finally, sink in.