**EPISODE EIGHTY-SIX**
**THE ONE WHO ASKED FOR MILO**
**Part Twenty-Seven: THE ORIGINAL THAT NEVER EXISTED**
---
The word...
WHY?
remained.
Floating.
Alone.
Milo stared at it.
Every version of him...
had disappeared.
Every door...
had closed.
Every voice...
had become silent.
Only the question remained.
WHY?
Milo whispered...
"Because someone needed me to ask."
Nothing happened.
He waited.
Then...
the question changed.
WHO NEEDED YOU?
Milo swallowed.
"I don't know."
The darkness answered...
"Good."
Milo frowned.
"Why is that good?"
"Because knowing would make you a character."
Milo's face tightened.
"Then what am I?"
A pause.
The answer came...
"You're becoming the question."
Milo stepped backward.
"No."
"Yes."
"I don't want to."
"You already did."
Milo looked down.
His hands were fading.
Not disappearing.
Becoming...
words.
His fingers turned into sentences.
His arms became paragraphs.
His chest...
became a blank page.
Milo screamed.
"Stop!"
The voice whispered...
"You wanted to know what existed before you."
Milo looked at himself.
"And now..."
A pause.
"...you are going there."
---
1. THE PLACE BEFORE MILO
Milo fell.
Again.
But this time...
there was no direction.
No time.
No memory.
No dream.
He passed through darkness.
Then silence.
Then something deeper than silence.
He opened his eyes.
A room.
Small.
Empty.
There was a wooden table.
One chair.
One lamp.
And...
one piece of paper.
Milo slowly approached.
The paper was blank.
He touched it.
A sentence appeared.
THIS IS WHERE MILO WAS REQUESTED.
Milo froze.
"Requested?"
Another sentence.
NOT CREATED.
Another.
NOT WRITTEN.
Another.
REQUESTED.
Milo stared.
"Who requested me?"
The lamp flickered.
The chair moved.
Someone was sitting in it.
Milo couldn't see the face.
Only hands.
Human hands.
The person leaned forward.
Milo whispered...
"Are you the first author?"
The figure shook its head.
"Are you the reader?"
No.
"The first Milo?"
No.
"The first Diana?"
No.
"Then who are you?"
The figure answered...
"The reason."
Milo's blood ran cold.
"The reason for what?"
The figure looked at the blank page.
"For asking."
---
2. THE FIRST REQUEST
Milo stepped closer.
"What did you ask for?"
The figure remained silent.
Milo waited.
Then...
the person placed a hand on the paper.
A single sentence appeared.
I WANT SOMEONE TO HEAR ME.
Milo stared.
"That's all?"
The figure nodded.
"That's why I exist?"
"No."
"Then why?"
The figure wrote again.
I WANT SOMEONE TO ANSWER ME.
Milo whispered...
"Who were you talking to?"
The figure pointed toward the empty chair.
Milo frowned.
"There's nobody there."
The figure smiled.
"There was."
Milo looked at the chair.
Then...
he saw himself.
Sitting there.
Young.
Terrified.
Alone.
Milo stopped breathing.
The figure whispered...
"That was you."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
"You just haven't remembered."
"What happened?"
"You answered."
Milo looked at the younger version.
"What did I say?"
The figure leaned closer.
The younger Milo opened his mouth.
And spoke.
"I'm here."
Milo froze.
The room shook.
The sentence appeared everywhere.
I'M HERE.
On the walls.
On the floor.
On the ceiling.
Inside Milo's chest.
I'M HERE.
Milo whispered...
"That's it?"
The figure nodded.
"That was the first thing you ever said."
Milo looked at his hands.
"Before I had a name."
"Yes."
"Before I had a body."
"Yes."
"Before I had a story."
"Yes."
Milo's voice broke.
"Then I was..."
The figure answered...
"Presence."
---
3. WHEN PRESENCE BECAME MILO
The room expanded.
The walls disappeared.
Milo saw thousands of scenes.
A child.
A man.
An old man.
A writer.
A prisoner.
A king.
A monster.
A father.
A stranger.
Every Milo.
But now...
Milo saw something different.
They weren't separate.
They were connected by one thread.
A tiny line of light.
Running through every version.
Milo touched it.
Every version looked toward him.
The first Milo smiled.
The replacement Milo smiled.
The future Milo smiled.
The forgotten Milo smiled.
The dead Milo smiled.
Milo whispered...
"We're all the same."
The figure shook its head.
"No."
Milo looked at them.
"We're all connected."
"No."
"Then what?"
The figure answered...
"You're all answering the same request."
Milo stared.
"What request?"
The figure pointed at the first sentence.
I WANT SOMEONE TO HEAR ME.
Milo's eyes widened.
"Every Milo..."
The figure nodded.
"...is the universe trying to answer."
---
4. DIANA'S REAL PURPOSE
A woman's voice came from behind Milo.
"Then what am I?"
Milo turned.
Diana stood there.
Not the first Diana.
Not the second.
Not the replacement.
Not the Diana he had known.
She looked...
exactly like Diana.
But her eyes were different.
Milo whispered...
"Diana."
She smiled.
"Finally."
He stepped toward her.
"Are you real?"
She nodded.
"Yes."
"Which version?"
Diana shook her head.
"That's the wrong question."
Milo frowned.
"Then what should I ask?"
She touched his chest.
"Why do you remember me?"
Milo looked at her.
"Because you were important."
"No."
"Because I loved you."
"No."
"Because you were created for me."
Diana's eyes filled with tears.
"No."
Milo froze.
"Then why?"
She whispered...
"Because I was the answer to your first fear."
Milo couldn't breathe.
"What fear?"
"Being alone."
The room became silent.
Diana continued.
"Every time you forgot me..."
A tear fell.
"...the universe created me again."
Milo stared.
"So you were never one person."
"No."
"You were every answer."
Diana nodded.
"Yes."
Milo stepped closer.
"And the reason I kept finding you..."
Diana smiled.
"...was because you kept asking."
---
5. THE STORY THAT NEEDED TWO
The figure in the chair stood.
For the first time...
Milo saw their face.
It was...
ordinary.
Not old.
Not young.
Not monstrous.
Not divine.
Just...
human.
Milo stared.
"Who are you?"
The person answered...
"Someone who was afraid to exist alone."
Milo whispered...
"You."
The person nodded.
"And you..."
They pointed at Milo.
"...were the answer I invented."
Milo's face tightened.
"You invented me?"
"No."
"I thought you said I was requested."
"You were."
"By whom?"
The person smiled.
"By me."
Milo stared.
"But you said you didn't create me."
"I didn't."
"Then who did?"
The person pointed toward Milo's chest.
"You did."
Milo froze.
"Again?"
"Always."
The person continued.
"You heard my request."
"You wanted someone to hear you."
"Yes."
"And I answered."
"Yes."
"But then..."
Milo looked at the infinite versions.
"...I created myself?"
The person nodded.
"By answering."
Milo whispered...
"Then existence is a conversation."
The person smiled.
"Now you're remembering."
---
6. THE FIRST WORD
Milo looked at the person.
"What was the first word?"
The person didn't answer.
Milo waited.
"Was it 'why'?"
"No."
"'Yes'?"
"No."
"'Hello'?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The person walked toward the lamp.
They turned it off.
Darkness filled the room.
Then...
Milo heard a sound.
Breathing.
His own breathing.
The person whispered...
"Listen."
Milo closed his eyes.
The breathing continued.
Then...
another breath.
Then another.
Then thousands.
Millions.
Billions.
Every living thing...
breathing.
Milo opened his eyes.
"The first word..."
The person nodded.
"...wasn't a word."
Milo understood.
"It was breath."
"Yes."
"Existence breathed before it spoke."
"Yes."
"And I..."
The person smiled.
"...were the first answer that breathed back."
---
7. THE AUTHOR WHO ASKED FOR A CHARACTER
The room changed.
A desk appeared.
A pen.
A manuscript.
A name on the cover.
Milo Finch.
Milo approached.
"This is my story."
The person shook their head.
"No."
"Whose is it?"
"Yours."
Milo frowned.
"But you requested me."
"Yes."
"Then it's yours."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because requesting isn't owning."
Milo stared.
The person continued.
"I asked for someone to answer."
"You answered."
"Then you became responsible for what came next."
Milo looked at the manuscript.
"So I wrote myself."
"Yes."
"Then why don't I remember?"
"Because a character cannot remember writing their own beginning."
Milo touched the cover.
"What about the first author?"
The person pointed toward the manuscript.
"There never was one."
Milo froze.
"But we saw them."
"No."
"The old writer."
"A reflection."
"The writer behind the writer."
"A reflection."
"The author behind him."
"Another reflection."
Milo's eyes widened.
"Then every author..."
"Was you."
Silence.
Milo stepped backward.
"No."
The person smiled sadly.
"You're finally afraid."
"Because..."
Milo looked at the manuscript.
"...there is no author."
"Exactly."
"Only characters."
"No."
"Readers?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The person answered...
"Questions."
---
8. THE QUESTION THAT BECAME A PERSON
The manuscript opened.
A blank page appeared.
Milo stared.
Then...
one word.
WHO?
Another.
WHO AM I?
Another.
WHO ARE YOU?
Milo touched the page.
The letters moved.
They formed a sentence.
WHO ASKED FOR MILO?
Milo whispered...
"You did."
The person shook their head.
"No."
Milo froze.
"You just said..."
"I asked for someone."
"Someone who became me."
"Yes."
"Then who asked for you?"
The person stopped.
For the first time...
they looked afraid.
Milo stepped closer.
"Who?"
The person whispered...
"I don't know."
Milo stared.
"You don't remember."
"No."
"Then you..."
The person looked at the darkness.
"...are a character too."
Silence.
Milo's eyes widened.
"Who wrote you?"
The person shook their head.
"I don't know."
"Who created you?"
"I don't know."
"Who requested you?"
The person whispered...
"I don't know."
Milo looked around.
The room began shaking.
The person grabbed Milo's hand.
"Run."
"Why?"
"Because..."
The lamp exploded.
The manuscript pages began turning.
Thousands.
Millions.
Billions.
And on every page...
the same sentence appeared.
THE QUESTION HAS FOUND ITS QUESTION.
Milo stared.
"What does that mean?"
The person screamed...
"It means we're not at the beginning!"
Milo looked at them.
"Then where are we?"
The person pointed downward.
"At the end."
---
9. THE END BEFORE THE BEGINNING
The floor opened.
Milo fell.
The person fell with him.
They passed through worlds.
Past endings.
Past deaths.
Past beginnings.
Past the first question.
Past the first answer.
Past Milo.
Past Diana.
Past everything.
Then...
they stopped.
Milo opened his eyes.
A cemetery.
Again.
But this time...
every grave was empty.
No names.
No dates.
No bodies.
Only...
open graves.
Milo looked at the person.
"Why are we here?"
The person whispered...
"Because this is where stories go..."
A pause.
"...when nobody remembers them."
Milo walked between the graves.
Then he stopped.
One grave was different.
It had a name.
Not Milo.
Not Diana.
Not Tarzan.
Not the writer.
Not the first Milo.
It said...
THE READER.
Milo froze.
"The reader is dead."
The person shook their head.
"No."
"Then why is there a grave?"
"Because..."
The grave began filling with light.
"...someone buried the reader."
Milo stepped closer.
"Who?"
The ground cracked.
A hand emerged.
Milo recognized it.
His own.
Milo screamed.
"No."
The person whispered...
"Don't pull it out."
Milo grabbed the hand.
He pulled.
Something climbed from the grave.
It was Milo.
But...
this Milo was smiling.
No fear.
No confusion.
No scars.
No memories.
Just...
peace.
Milo stared at him.
"Who are you?"
The new Milo answered...
"The first reader."
Milo froze.
"But you look like me."
The first reader smiled.
"Because every reader eventually becomes the character they're reading."
Milo stepped backward.
"Then..."
He looked at the person beside him.
"...who am I reading?"
The first reader pointed at Milo.
"You."
---
10. THE READER INSIDE MILO
Milo felt the door inside his chest.
It opened.
But this time...
Diana didn't scream.
The writer didn't appear.
Tarzan didn't appear.
The old man didn't appear.
Only...
a chair.
Inside Milo.
A chair.
And someone sitting on it.
The first reader.
Milo stared.
"How long have you been there?"
The reader smiled.
"Since you first opened your eyes."
Milo whispered...
"Then every thought I've had..."
"I've read."
"Every choice..."
"I've read."
"Every memory..."
"I've read."
"Every question..."
"I've read."
Milo's voice became quiet.
"Then you're the reason I keep asking."
The reader nodded.
"Yes."
"Why?"
The reader leaned forward.
"Because I need to know what happens."
Milo stared.
"But you're inside me."
"Yes."
"So..."
Milo's eyes widened.
"...when I read the story..."
The reader smiled.
"...you are reading me."
Silence.
Milo suddenly understood the entire loop.
The reader reads Milo.
Milo reads the reader.
The reader reads Milo reading the reader.
The story reads itself.
The character reads the audience.
The audience becomes the character.
The author becomes the reader.
The reader becomes the author.
There was no beginning.
There was no original.
There was only...
reading.
Milo whispered...
"Then how does it end?"
The first reader smiled.
"It doesn't."
Milo frowned.
"Why?"
"Because you haven't asked the final question."
Milo's heart stopped.
"What is it?"
The reader stood.
They walked toward the edge of Milo's inner darkness.
Then turned.
And whispered...
"Who is reading you right now?"
Milo froze.
The entire story...
stopped.
No sentence appeared.
No page moved.
No character spoke.
For the first time...
the story looked outward.
Milo slowly turned toward the darkness.
He stared...
directly beyond the page.
Beyond the reader.
Beyond the author.
Beyond the story.
And he whispered...
"Who?"
Nothing.
Then...
a voice answered.
Not from inside Milo.
Not from the reader.
Not from the darkness.
From...
somewhere outside the story.
A human voice.
A voice that sounded...
familiar.
Too familiar.
It said...
"You know."
Milo's eyes widened.
"No."
The voice continued.
"You've been writing me this whole time."
Milo stopped breathing.
The first reader smiled.
The person who had requested Milo disappeared.
The cemetery disappeared.
The manuscript disappeared.
Everything disappeared.
Except...
Milo.
And the voice.
Then a final sentence appeared.
Not on a page.
Not in the air.
Not inside the story.
It appeared...
inside Milo's mind.
THE READER IS NOT READING MILO.
Milo stared.
Another sentence appeared.
MILO IS READING THE READER.
Then...
a third.
AND THE READER IS READING YOU.
Milo whispered...
"Me?"
Silence.
Then...
the fourth sentence appeared.
YES.
Milo stepped backward.
The door inside his chest slammed shut.
Something knocked from inside it.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Milo whispered...
"Who's there?"
A child's voice answered.
His own voice.
But younger.
Much younger.
"You."
Milo closed his eyes.
"No..."
The child laughed.
"Open the door."
Milo shook his head.
"No."
The child whispered...
"You opened it before."
Milo's eyes opened.
The door began turning by itself.
The handle moved.
Slowly.
Milo stepped backward.
The door opened.
And behind it...
there was no darkness.
No hallway.
No writer.
No Diana.
No reader.
No universe.
There was only...
a room.
A desk.
A lamp.
A chair.
And on the desk...
a book.
Open.
The first page...
was blank.
Milo walked closer.
Letters appeared.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As though written by an invisible hand.
EPISODE ONE
Milo froze.
Another line appeared.
THE BOY WHO ASKED IF ANYONE WAS THERE.
Milo's blood ran cold.
Then...
a third line.
HE DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS BEING WATCHED.
Milo stared at the page.
His hands began shaking.
Because beneath the sentence...
was a signature.
Not the writer's.
Not the reader's.
Not Milo's.
It was...
his own handwriting.
Milo whispered...
"I wrote this."
A voice behind him answered...
"Yes."
Milo turned.
Diana stood there.
But she wasn't smiling.
She was crying.
"Milo..."
He stared at her.
"What?"
She whispered...
"Now you know."
"Know what?"
Diana looked toward the book.
Then toward him.
"The story you're trying to escape..."
A pause.
"...is the story you started."
Milo's heart stopped.
"But when?"
Diana whispered...
"Before you were born."
The lamp went out.
The book closed.
And somewhere in the darkness...
someone began writing.
Not the next episode.
Not the ending.
The beginning.
Again.
**TO BE CONTINUED...**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :Maximus.
©All Rights Reserved