I recently read an article that stated that Stephen King wrote 2,000 words a day, and it got me thinking of myself. I know that at times I can become complacent in my writing, or go through writer's block when it comes to my more important projects which causes me to go days without writing. I realized by not writing daily, I was depriving myself of precious time practicing my craft. So I decided to start a project that I could see myself working on even on those days when I'm feeling uninspired. This is that project, less cohesive story with a cut-and-paste plot than meandering epic that travels wherever my mind takes it. I plan on making this a very experimental work, like a sandbox where I could throw any literary plaything in hopes that some stick. For this reason and others, I expect for most to bear some quarrel with what this project could become, but I will be much less bothered by that than harsh criticism on my other works because it's a stress-free project that I'm writing for practice more than anything else. That being said, as always, I'm extremely open to criticism of any kind or any length from anyone. I'm sure along the way the question of why I'm publishing this on Prose might come up and to that question, I answer thusly, "Because I can!" I hope that I, or any reader, is able to see my steady progression as a writer and maybe even able to derive some pleasure from reading what I have to write. 

If anyone makes it this far, happy reading!

I had a life before, you know. Before someone stuffed me in this pod to float out in nothingness for all of my life. How do I know? Because I can remember the grass under my feet, the summer sun (excuse me a summer sun) shining down on my head, the expansive and never-ending blue sky above me like the river that stretched out beyond. Yes, I know that there is something beyond these pristine white walls, this ship that caters to my every whim, this soul-killing sterility.

"Soul" is a funny word isn't it. I learned it a while ago, but how long ago was it now? Maybe a day? Week? Month? I couldn't be sure, the days bleed together. And while I'm on the topic, what a strange way to count days, 24 hours? Who came up with that? Yes, I know that you used to have a sun that kept you aware of the change in the time, but I do not have that luxury anymore.

And who is this "you" anyways? I guess I need a companion so I've created one out of myself. You are I, I am You. Maybe that holds some value, but how can I know up here alone?

But anyway back to "soul". I was taught the word the same way I was taught anything, by the large black monitor screen that stood impassively in the front of the ship at all times watching me. The lesson that day was Advanced English Vocabulary and the monitor had explained it thusly, "The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal".

Obviously, I had asked a follow-up question to this ambiguous definition,

"What is meant by that?"

"By what, Master Johnson?" the monitor replied in its polite, robotic dialect.

"By that word, 'soul'?"

"'The spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal' I'm sorry if I was moving too quickly Master Johnson," the monitor tried to inject some remorse into its apology but it hit my ears as being inorganic. But then again what did I expect?

"No, what does it mean? I think I've seen the word in books or heard it before, and it seems like one of those big things I should know."

"I'm sorry Master Johnson, I was not uploaded with that information. Hopefully, I can be updated with this information soon."

I sighed and ceased my questioning. Whoever had set the monitor up had left out many important pieces of information like what I was doing on this ship or what a soul really was. All I knew is that I was traveling to some unknown location or more accurately away from my former planet. I didn't know the way, and more importantly, traveling in solitude on a small ship within this dark, endless universe, I didn't know myself.