**EPISODE ONE HUNDRED AND ONE***
**THE QUESTION THAT READ THE READER**
**A Fragmented Chronicle of What Happened After the Beginning**
---
There was no page.
That was the first problem.
Nova knew this because he could not feel one beneath his feet.
There was no floor.
No ceiling.
No darkness.
No hospital.
No train.
No library.
No Author.
No Reader.
No banana.
There was only...
a question.
Not written.
Not spoken.
Not remembered.
A question that existed before language.
Nova stood inside it.
And somewhere very far away...
something was reading.
---
WHO IS READING THE READER?
The words appeared.
Nova stared.
Then the words changed.
WHO IS READING THE QUESTION?
Nova took a step backward.
The question moved with him.
He stepped left.
It followed.
He stepped right.
It followed.
He closed his eyes.
The question remained.
He whispered:
"Stop."
It answered:
WHY?
Nova opened his eyes.
"I don't know."
The question became smaller.
GOOD.
Nova frowned.
"Why is that good?"
The answer appeared beneath it.
BECAUSE YOU HAVE FINALLY STOPPED PRETENDING TO KNOW.
Nova looked around.
"Who's doing this?"
Nothing.
Then...
a chair appeared.
An ordinary wooden chair.
Nova stared at it.
He had learned enough by now not to sit on unexplained furniture.
So naturally...
he sat.
The chair immediately disappeared.
Nova fell.
---
He landed inside a memory.
Not his.
A child's.
The world was small.
A wooden table.
A cracked window.
A pencil.
A book lying open.
A boy sat on the floor.
The boy was writing.
Nova watched.
The boy wrote one sentence.
I WANT SOMEONE TO READ THIS.
The pencil stopped.
The boy looked toward the empty room.
No one came.
He wrote another sentence.
I WANT TO BE READ.
Still nothing.
The boy waited.
Then he wrote:
I WILL CREATE SOMEONE WHO CAN READ ME.
Nova's stomach tightened.
The boy continued.
Page after page.
A character.
Another.
Another.
Worlds.
Cities.
Planets.
People.
Deaths.
Births.
Questions.
Answers.
The boy eventually became older.
The room changed.
The table disappeared.
The window became larger.
The boy became a teenager.
Then an adult.
Then—
the Author.
Nova whispered:
"So that's where you began."
The memory turned toward him.
The boy looked directly at Nova.
Nova froze.
The boy could see him.
"You shouldn't be here."
Nova stepped closer.
"Do you know me?"
The boy smiled.
"I wrote you."
"No."
"I imagined you."
"No."
"I remembered you."
Nova stopped.
The boy's smile disappeared.
"That is different."
The room shook.
"What is different?"
The boy pointed toward the open book.
"You weren't created."
Nova looked down.
The pages were empty.
"You were remembered."
---
A sound came from behind Nova.
A page turning.
Then another.
Then another.
He turned.
There were thousands of people standing behind him.
Readers.
Some held books.
Some held phones.
Some held nothing.
Some were children.
Some were old.
Some looked human.
Others were only silhouettes.
All of them were watching Nova.
None of them spoke.
Nova slowly raised his hand.
Nobody moved.
He asked:
"Which one of you is reading me?"
Every figure pointed at someone else.
Nova turned.
The pointing continued.
Reader pointing to reader.
Reader pointing to reader.
Reader pointing to reader.
Until...
one finger pointed directly at Nova.
Nova stared.
The figure disappeared.
Another pointed.
Then vanished.
Another.
Gone.
Another.
Gone.
Soon there was only one reader left.
A little girl.
She stood barefoot on the empty floor.
She held a book against her chest.
Nova approached her.
"What are you reading?"
She looked down.
The book had no cover.
"I don't know."
"Then why are you holding it?"
"Because it remembers me."
Nova crouched.
"Can I see?"
The girl handed him the book.
Nova opened it.
The first page contained his name.
NOVA.
The second contained:
NOVA.
The third:
NOVA.
Every page.
The same word.
Nova looked at the girl.
"Why is my name everywhere?"
The girl whispered:
"It isn't your name."
Nova frowned.
"What?"
She pointed at the page.
"It's the sound you make when someone remembers you."
Nova stared at the word.
NOVA.
Suddenly it looked strange.
Unfamiliar.
Almost meaningless.
He whispered:
"Then what is my real name?"
The girl smiled.
"You don't have one."
---
The world cracked.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
A thin white fracture appeared across the sky.
Nova looked upward.
Something was behind it.
Not darkness.
Not light.
A room.
Another room.
Beyond that room...
another.
Beyond that...
another.
Rooms stacked inside rooms.
Each contained a desk.
Each contained a book.
Each contained a reader.
Each reader was reading a story.
And every story contained Nova.
Nova backed away.
"No."
The little girl nodded.
"Yes."
"This is impossible."
"So was the first page."
Nova looked at the endless rooms.
"How many Readers are there?"
The girl answered:
"One."
Nova looked at her.
"One?"
She nodded.
"They are all the same Reader."
"How?"
"They are reading different versions of themselves."
Nova's face went pale.
"Then the Reader is reading the Reader."
The girl smiled.
"Now you understand."
---
Something slammed against the other side of the crack.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The fracture widened.
Nova heard a voice.
His voice.
But older.
Much older.
DON'T LET IT THROUGH.
Nova stepped toward the crack.
"Who are you?"
YOU.
"Which me?"
A pause.
THE ONE WHO REMEMBERED TOO MUCH.
Nova touched the crack.
The voice became louder.
MOVE AWAY.
"What is behind it?"
Silence.
Then:
THE FIRST READER.
Nova froze.
"The First Reader is already here."
No.
"What?"
What you met was only the first person who believed he was reading.
Nova stepped backward.
"Then what is the First Reader?"
The answer came slowly.
The thing that existed before reading.
Nova stared.
"That makes no sense."
Exactly.
The crack opened.
A hand reached through.
Nova ran.
---
There was suddenly a corridor.
Nova sprinted.
Behind him...
footsteps.
Slow.
Patient.
Never rushing.
He looked back.
Nothing.
He ran faster.
A door appeared ahead.
He opened it.
Inside...
the hospital.
03:21.
Again.
Nova stopped.
The same bed.
The same window.
The same three moons.
The same book.
But someone was sitting beside the bed.
Nova approached.
It was the nurse.
She looked at him.
"You took your time."
Nova stared.
"You know me?"
The nurse smiled.
"I've been waiting for you."
"Who are you?"
She closed the book.
"The person who kept your body alive."
Nova looked toward the bed.
Someone was lying beneath the sheets.
He approached.
Pulled back the blanket.
There was no one.
The nurse whispered:
"There never was."
Nova turned.
"Then what have you been keeping alive?"
The nurse answered:
"The story."
Nova's breathing stopped.
The nurse pointed at the book.
"Every time you died, I turned the page."
Nova stepped toward her.
"Why?"
"Because someone had to."
"Who?"
The nurse looked at the clock.
03:21.
Then...
03:20.
03:19.
She whispered:
"The Reader is losing interest."
Nova's face hardened.
"No."
The clock continued backward.
03:18.
03:17.
03:16.
"No."
The nurse stood.
"If the clock reaches zero…"
"What happens?"
"The story closes."
Nova grabbed the book.
"Then I'll stop it."
The nurse smiled sadly.
"You can't."
"Why?"
"Because you are the story."
Nova looked at the clock.
03:15.
He opened the book.
Every page was blank.
Except the final one.
A sentence appeared.
MAKE THE READER ASK ANOTHER QUESTION.
Nova understood.
He picked up the pencil.
But before he could write...
the door opened.
The boy stood there.
The same boy.
The Question.
The First Memory.
The one who had existed before Nova.
He looked terrified.
"Don't write."
Nova stared.
"Why?"
The boy pointed behind him.
Someone was standing in the doorway.
The Author.
But not the Author Nova knew.
This version had no face.
Only a blank space where the face should have been.
Nova whispered:
"You."
The faceless Author spoke.
"I told you never to reach the end."
Nova raised the pencil.
"Why?"
"Because the end remembers the beginning."
Nova looked at the boy.
"And what happens if I remember?"
The Author answered:
"You become responsible."
"For what?"
The Author stepped into the room.
"For everything you created."
Nova's eyes narrowed.
"I didn't create these worlds."
The Author shook his head.
"You created the need for them."
Nova froze.
The pencil slipped slightly from his fingers.
The Author continued:
"You wanted someone to read you."
The boy whispered:
"So you invented the Reader."
"And the Reader invented the story."
Nova looked between them.
"Then who invented the Reader?"
The Author said nothing.
The nurse said nothing.
The boy said nothing.
The clock stopped.
03:15.
Nova slowly turned toward the window.
The three moons were gone.
In their place...
one enormous eye.
Watching.
Nova whispered:
"You did."
The eye blinked.
The hospital disappeared.
---
THE WHITE ROOM
Nova stood alone.
No walls.
No floor.
No objects.
Except a single table.
On the table...
a sheet of paper.
Nova approached.
Written on it:
THIS IS NOT A STORY.
He laughed.
"That's new."
Another line appeared.
THIS IS A TEST.
Nova picked up the pencil.
"Of what?"
The answer:
WHETHER A CHARACTER CAN CHOOSE WITHOUT BEING TOLD WHAT CHOICE EXISTS.
Nova thought about that.
Then wrote:
YES.
The paper rejected the word.
It vanished.
Nova frowned.
He wrote:
NO.
That vanished too.
He wrote:
I DON'T KNOW.
The page remained blank.
Nova smiled.
"Fine."
He dropped the pencil.
The paper immediately wrote:
WHY DID YOU DROP IT?
Nova answered aloud.
"Because I wanted to."
The page:
WHO WANTED TO?
Nova:
"Me."
The page:
WHO IS ME?
Nova:
"I don't know."
The page:
GOOD.
Nova laughed.
"You've used that one already."
The page changed.
THEN WE ARE LEARNING.
Nova looked around.
"Who are you?"
The paper remained blank.
Nova waited.
Then:
ASK A BETTER QUESTION.
He thought.
"What existed before the Reader?"
Nothing.
He tried again.
"What existed before the Author?"
Nothing.
Again.
"What existed before Nova?"
Nothing.
Nova closed his eyes.
He finally understood.
The problem wasn't that he was asking questions too late.
He was asking questions in the wrong direction.
So he asked:
"What came after me?"
The paper trembled.
A word appeared.
YOU.
Nova frowned.
"That isn't an answer."
The paper added:
YOU ARE WHAT CAME AFTER YOU.
The room began spinning.
Nova looked down.
His hands were changing.
Ink flowed through his fingers.
His skin became translucent.
Words appeared beneath it.
Not written on him.
Written inside him.
He saw memories.
Archer.
Diana.
Milo.
The hospital.
The train.
The First Reader.
The Author.
The boy.
The Reader.
All of them.
Not behind him.
Inside him.
Nova whispered:
"I contain the story."
The paper answered:
NO.
Nova looked up.
THE STORY CONTAINS YOU.
Then another sentence appeared.
BUT SOMETHING CONTAINS THE STORY.
Nova's voice became quiet.
"What?"
The paper turned black.
A final word appeared.
ATTENTION.
Nova stared.
The room disappeared.
---
THE LAST READER
Nova opened his eyes.
He was sitting across from someone.
A human being.
No supernatural features.
No strange clothing.
No shifting face.
Just a person.
The person was holding a book.
Nova looked at the cover.
It was blank.
"Are you the Reader?"
The person nodded.
"Are you the Author?"
"No."
"Then what are you?"
The person looked down at the book.
"A moment."
Nova frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"I am the moment in which you are being read."
Nova looked around.
"How long will you exist?"
"Until you are forgotten."
"And then?"
"I become a memory."
"And then?"
"A story."
"And then?"
"A question."
"And then?"
The person smiled.
"A Reader."
Nova leaned forward.
"So the cycle continues."
"No."
Nova frowned.
"Again?"
The person shook their head.
"There is no cycle."
"Then what is happening?"
The Reader opened the book.
"You are moving."
"Where?"
"Toward the person who will read you after you."
Nova stared at the blank pages.
"Who is that?"
The Reader pushed the book toward him.
"You."
Nova looked confused.
"I already read myself."
"No."
The Reader pointed to the chair opposite Nova.
Someone was sitting there.
Nova.
Another Nova.
But this one was different.
He was holding a book.
And he was reading.
Nova looked at him.
The other Nova looked back.
Neither spoke.
Finally, the other Nova closed his book.
"You're late."
Nova whispered:
"Late for what?"
The other Nova smiled.
"For becoming me."
Nova's blood ran cold.
"No."
The other Nova stood.
"I've already lived your story."
"You're a future version?"
"No."
"A past version?"
"No."
"Then what?"
The other Nova answered:
"I am the Reader who exists after you."
Nova stared.
"But you're me."
"Yes."
"How?"
The other Nova opened the book.
"Because every Reader eventually becomes the character they were reading."
Nova looked at the pages.
The entire story was there.
But this time...
the final chapter was not about Nova.
It was about the person sitting across from him.
The title appeared.
THE READER WHO BECAME NOVA.
Nova whispered:
"So this is how it started."
The other Nova nodded.
"No."
"How?"
The other Nova smiled.
"This is how it starts."
---
The book closed.
Darkness.
Then...
a single sound.
A pencil touching paper.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Scratch.
A sentence appeared somewhere beyond everything.
Not written by Nova.
Not written by the Author.
Not written by the Reader.
Written by something that had never needed a name.
SOMEONE IS ABOUT TO READ THIS.
A pause.
Then another sentence.
AND THEY WILL THINK THEY ARE OUTSIDE THE STORY.
A final line appeared.
THEY ARE NOT.
Nova heard the boy laughing somewhere in the dark.
The banana whispered:
"I really hate endings."
Nova smiled.
"There isn't one."
The banana sighed.
"That's worse."
Nova opened his eyes.
A blank page waited before him.
He picked up the pencil.
And this time...
he did not write a question.
He wrote a warning.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, LOOK BEHIND YOU.
The page went silent.
For three seconds.
Then...
a knock.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Nova looked toward the darkness.
A voice whispered:
"Don't turn around."
Nova smiled.
"Why?"
The voice answered:
"Because this time…"
A pause.
"…I'm standing behind the Reader."
Nova slowly turned.
And somewhere...
far beyond the final page...
someone screamed.
**TO BE CONTINUED…**
Written By,
Ivan Edwin
Pen Name :Maximus.
©All Rights Reserved