When teachers told you that every story must have a what, where, when, why, how and a who, they were wrong. They were only wrong by a grammatical error, though. What, or who, they had intended to say was "Who." That minute taken to enlarge that 'w' would be all the what, where, how, why and especially when that you would ever need for a story.
You see, when you are formulating any story, no matter what, there is Who. No matter when, there is Who. No matter how, there is Who. No matter, no matter, Who is already provided. Even within the event horizon of a black hole when only the void is welcoming, there is Who.
Who is Who, do you ask? Well, if you don't already know, then you'd be lying. I don't mean to say that you lie intentionally. You don't realize that you already know Who by merely existing (or, if you no longer exist, then he may be the why.)
Some of the inhabitants of a local galaxy, Andromeda, have found this theory to be outdated-- but that would be because their time and place is relative, therefore they receive our information a good many years after they have discovered it themselves. So they find us impertinent, but by the time we find out that they feel we are impertinent, we're already living on a different planet and it takes double the time for their post to reach us.
It doesn't need to be explained that the Who I am referring to is not your average, non-elusive, non-existent kind of who. He effects and manipulates everything that fluctuates in and out of reality-- and is ever-present, even if he is never there when you need him. Like the time that we were travelling the cosmos in search of civilization only to find a planet of bacterium looking for better food. Who wasn't there.
And Who isn't here right now, either. I'm sitting in the sub-orbital prison's computer lab on antiquated devices with which I can only type or search for meanings of things. I tried writing letters to the void, or signalling for Who with the Who Knows What mystery of human existence. Neither of these methods are working.
Here I am waiting for the termination of the edge of the system, waiting for a practical use for human remains before they jettison me into the cosmic graveyard. Here I am, having done the bidding for the great Who for the last years of my life; living, breathing, righteous felonies year after year. My existence is proof of Who. Without me, he wouldn't be the Who he is today.
They say time is a circle. They're wrong. I know, because from the window of my air-lock, I can see time itself.
He's handsome, and even if he's a square-- that's still better than a circle.
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