• James looked out of his barred window. He was in a juvenile insane asylum, he's 17 and in there for having blackouts. His doctors think it might be schizophrenia, but he might be too young. Stress was another possibility.
    It was quiet hour, everybody had to stay in their room for about an hour. Most took naps, but James wrote. Right now he was in the middle of a writer's block, so he was thinking about things to write. He thought the scenery outside his window will help inspire him to write, but all he saw was a abandoned factory, the gray sky filtered the sun out completely, giving a spell of depression. He heaved a great sigh. Disappointed, he walked back to his desk.
    He sat down and looked at his writings.
    "Hmm... words"
    Words were special to him. He always thought about its means of communications, its roots, the sound. Words, he always thought of himself as a wordsmith. He loved to construct them and organize words into poems, or stories. When he focused onto a page of words, he didn't focus on the whole or the paragraphs, but as each word like bricks in a wall. Words were the very foundation of society, and he knows it. Constitutions and bills, laws and protocols, even the commandments of religion relied on the imaginary invention of humanity. After all, words, nay letters were symbols. And symbols represented something. Like an object, condition, locations and many other things. But words were just another manipulative perspective. After reading Orwell's "1984", James began thinking about how easy words can be changed. Like cats could be dogs, red could be blue. Three and be six and so forth. It was all a matter of perspective, and what we were taught or shown as we grew up. James tapped his pencil, thinking as far back as possible, trying to comprehend how as human society developed, so did language. How was it implemented he wondered? Did they all group up and decide what should be called what? Or did they accept what they were used to hearing over the generations? He wanted to know the full answer, which was why he already planned to study anthropology in college. Hopefully...
    He looked out the door, and peeked to see if he can find a clock. Usually there was a staff member there to make sure we stayed in our rooms, today was no exception
    "Hey James, quiet hour still not up"
    "How much longer?" he asked
    "You know I can't tell ya that James. Just lay in your bed, relax." James sighed and closed his door. They wouldn't let you know the time cause it was apparently unhealthy in some cases. James threw himself on his thin mattress and looked up at the plain white ceiling. Just white. Nothingness. Time. What existed in the beginning of time? Was there even a beginning? There had to be, everything had to have a beginning and a ending, but did that apply to time? Wait, time didn't exist though, right? Time is just a unit of measurement, and measurements had their limits, so was it even possible to measure time? Was it even possible to comprehend what began, period? That made James think of dark matter, a invisible force that acted as anti-gravity that repelled atoms and soon would stretch everything apart to shreds, and there was nothing we could do.
    Right?
    And while thinking all of this, James began pondering about thoughts. Humans only used ten percent of their brains, and the very substance in their heads was a great mystery to us. James began wondering when evolution led to specie becoming aware of it's own existence, aware about their surroundings and knew how to adapt to it? And how does the atomic arrangement create life itself? What generated the very foundation of existence and awareness? Atoms had protons, electrons, neutrons, hadrons, theoretically gravitons. Then there's the oh so swift neutrinos being nosy, swimming through invisible currents that flow through the holes of existence for some purpose we can even conceive. How, and why does a certain formation create the self surviving cell, bacteria, etc that later evolves to amazing species? And why was it instinct to survive? What compels the carriers of life to keep the gift and pass it on via reproduction? They just do, we just do, Its instinct to keep life going, even though we don't know exactly what drives that instinct.
    "Too bad I'm not christian" he joked. He could of answered all of this with one word. God.
    And then there was god himself. James is a atheist, but he always wondered that if God did exist, where did he come from? Just out of nothing like that? And what was the reason for creating us? Maybe he was lonely? Or just bored? He created Adam and Eve for what seemed like no special reason, only to spoil the two lovers in the garden. And the fruit, why was all that knowledge forbidden? How can it exist if sins weren't committed yet? It always seemed to James that God purposely did all that. For what though? He couldn't say.
    "Knock knock, quiet time is over" said the staff member outside his door.
    "Okay" James got up and looked at his paper. And at that moment, the greatest mystery to have plagued the mind of James was created. Why, after all his pondering and contemplations, after all his questioning and deducing with logic, did he still have NOTHING to write about?!