Let it be known that I do not exist. In the pages of this tome, I speak of things that may have happened, but not with me present. The use of pronouns such as me and us are purely abstracts to convey a concept beyond the normal laws of physics. I see, hear, feel, and interact with my surroundings, but within a world that could not possibly exist. Rather than attempt to come to terms with these sensations, it is easier to accept the paradox that I do not exist within the world I live in.
If this seems comfortable to you, then perhaps I've said my peace. For others, I can only think to make an example of stories. If you've never read a story, then maybe this example is lost on you, but I am at least excited to know that mine is your first. To you few, I say, "may your future endeavors into literacy be infinitely more appropriate."
To you remaining, wedged inbetween the Venn Diagram of literacy and bewilderment, comprehension and yet incomprehension, I ask you to imagine yourself reading a book, fictitous preferably. You follow the travels and exploits of one or more characters through out the plot. As you do so, you let your imagination place you inside the tale. Perhaps you are a separate character, in the shoes of an existing one, or maybe just hovering above the action.
I am in your story. A tale of millions upon millions of authors paints itself around me, but I am little more than a bookmark between your pages. I am not divine. Quite the opposite. Occasionally, I know the illusion of free will, but it is short live. I am overly aware of my quasi-existence, most of the time. But still, I read on, wanting to finish that one more chapter.
If you are still lost, then I wouldn't worry. Be content to know that what I am about to tell you are stories, and think no deeper.
