Meet George:
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|\ ← This is George (he looked better in Notepad, sorry)
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Like everyone ever born, George was given an image by his progenitors. Some say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this image contains many many more, an entire language even. In some cases, several. It’s a depiction of time and thought, history and future, meaning and purpose, customs and traditions, and it’s replete with expectations.
As an infant, the image was all George could see and he knew nothing.
By establishing patterns and making connections, George gained understanding. With time and maturity, understanding led to functionality as George followed opportunity and compulsion to form his representation in the image. With age and experience came suffering, and much of the image still didn’t make sense. He looked up close and searched deep and did not like what he found. So he stepped back, further and further away, until finally he caught glimpse of a frame. It was only an image.
As a broken old man, the image was one George could see. And he knew nothing.
George thought he saw a map in the image. For years and years he followed the path on the image as best he could, but where the image denoted a landmark, the reality was often absent.
George made friends and shared image details and tried to learn from others. Over time, George began to notice curious patterns among these images, and not just among those held by him and his friends.
For instance, George and his friends had a lot of similarities in their images. However, the TV broadcasted images that were implied to be like those of George and his friends. But the TV images were quite different in some disconcerting ways.
After trusting the image implicitly for years, one day the image didn’t feel so right. Instructions, as depicted, were impossible to follow. Steps were skipped, details omitted, and configurations conflicted. Some illusions were revealed with a simple ruler. In responding to an intuition, questions arose which compromised all understanding.
Nothing made sense to George anymore. Irreconcilable conflict shattered his faith in the image. He even began to wonder why the image existed at all.
He stepped back further and further. The frame was barely in view for what little portion he could see of it, and it hardly seemed to move as he backed away.
So George turned and began running from the image. He ran and ran, periodically glancing over his shoulder to check his progress. The running definitely helped, as he could tell between glances that more of the frame was coming into view.
He kept running tirelessly with the answer he sought dangling before him. His backward glances were less frequent until he found himself focused on his breathing and not looking back at all. He could only run for hope to know the truth. His sense of urgency was blessed with a supernatural stamina to drive it.
He had nearly forgot why he was running at all when he stopped. It just felt good to run after all those years hovering before the image. But now George was ready for the answer. He turned slowly, as excitement and anticipation couldn’t overtake trepidation over expectations.
The image came into view. He was nowhere near far enough to see it entirely while yet unable to make out any detail for his distance. But much more of the frame was visible. And what was curious was what was not; a frame.
It was only an edge, a sharp and linear end to the image that followed a strange path which seemed to cut through whatever was pictured. The path of the border gave him pause for a time until it settled on him like a feather to the skull.
The image is a piece of a puzzle he was certain never to see in it’s entirety before his eventual demise.
