One of my favorites.

And another. I really enjoyed writing this one. To all you nonexistent readers: Enjoy!

I scrambled up from the edge, the vast emptiness stretching out before me. It was odd to look at nothing, not the nothing of an empty field, but simply nothing. No light, no dark, no nothing.
The man spoke, his voice not showing any emotion, “You have found this place, so you may get a choice for your life. For what it has been and will be. Would you like to hear your options?”
I nodded, I had never managed to find this place before, but many others from destroyed worlds had tried.
“You can have a life of peace. Where everyone will be happy, no scrapes, no bumps, no bruises. Long lives for all and ill intent will be a child’s story. But it will be bland; there will be no things that make you amazed. It will be like porridge, porridge is a filling, pleasant food, but you never talk about the wonderful porridge that you had. Think of when you were a small child, and all the grownups seemed to always move so slowly, with no need to get anywhere quickly. If you choose this your life will be like that, slowly walking, and although you never trip and skin your knee, you also never see the butterfly perched on a flower.”
I nodded, mulling over this life, “What is the other choice?”
He regarded me, his eyes simply mirroring the lack of anything surrounding this place, “You will feel pain, but also wonder. But your life will not be perfect, and you will almost certainly die young. You will live a life of emotions, each one having its mirror. You will feel pain, but also wonder. Anger, but also passion. Sorrow, but also hope. You will not be joyful, but you will be filled with amazement at the things of beauty. I have given you your choices, so which do you choose?”
I thought. I did not strive for either, rather simply a world to call my own. Not the husk of one of the many empty planets. “How sure are both futures?”
The man considered my question for a moment, “Neither are truly certain, but both are almost. You may live long in the second one, but at a million to one chance. You may have amazement in the first one, but do not bet on it.”
I thought a bit more, and decided. I did not want a life laid out for me, a set of bricks that I knew I would follow. So I chose the third option, the unspoken, perhaps unthought-of one. Standing I walked to the edge of the abyss of nothing, and leapt.
The world was the place outside of the stars, the place that the wind sings of to you, the place that sits just beyond where your vision can’t see. It is a world made up of myth and dreams and hopes. A fragile wish on gossamer wings.
Some days are porridge, and some are cake. There are scrapes and bruises, but kisses on the cuts afterwards. Some days you look in the well of emotions, and drink deeply, but some you simply sip. There are no absolutes, no life of only contentedness, but no life of only blurs of beauty as well. The mirrors still stand, although some are cracked or chipped. The world turns, the flowers grow, and the wind whispers. But even the porridge tastes amazing.

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