Squiggle Part1

I start out in an unusual place, in the middle of white nowhere. If I were religious I would call this purgatory, a blank nothingness where there simply is nothing - no blithe nor material matter for me to touch and distract myself.

Once, I was what you could call religious. Church once a week. Green notes in a deep plastic bucket with several other bills and a few rebellious coins. Mother said that only those who wanted the sting of hell's flames would crumple their notes.

This can't be purgatory, for I am moving. No longer suspended over the white nothingness, I am moving forth like a general triumphantly returning from battle to glorious Rome.

Alas, I am black, and not wily like Aaron upon the moor, nor brave like the Black Prince Edward.

Not black, but the darkest grey, like coal. Is there really any black? Mother said only Negroes had really black hair; mine is brown. Not grey, but brown.

The white earth is spoilt by the grey.

I am being followed.

They must be tyre tracks behind me. I can see their grey marks.

I want to speed up, but I have no control.

What do I do? My heart wants to sink. In the midst of it all, I don't feel as scared as I should. Something tells me this is all normal.

White all around, as far as the eye can see. There is not horizon. Why is there no horizon?