The Man Exists

A Story by Blake Kairos

Your existence is possible, but is not very likely.

The man exists. He knows this because he opens his eyes. He becomes aware of this because he feels a slight breeze against them. He blinks a few times, confused as to why he kept his eyes open for so long. He inhales. He is unaware to how this happens, it just sort of does. He exhales. He is used to this old convention of breathing. He doesn’t know, doesn’t remember, where he was before he opened his eyes. But, he thinks not much of this, as he exists now. He fears closing his eyes for too long, afraid of perhaps disappearing, possibly, for not the first time. He stands, having been laying down on a raised platform. A sheet, white, covered it. It is dark. He is in a room, inside a building. He knows not how big the room is, nor does he wonder. He sees an open door, moonlight streaming in from it. He cannot see outside, however, a thick foggy mist that shrouds distance. Unsure what to do, he walks. He stumbles, suddenly realizing that he has forgotten how to walk. On his hands and knees, he crawls. The further he goes, the more of a struggle movement becomes. He reaches out with his right hand to the mist, just hoping to touch it. If he can just reach it then, maybe…

The doctor holds up the life. “Congratulations.” he says to the woman on the bed. “It’s a boy.”