He lived in a world of nothing.

Nothing wrapped tight in a vacant sky. Nothing stirred the leaves of the trees. Nothing floated down the river. Nothing echoed through the school halls and droned in the classrooms. He carried the nothing slung over his shoulder in a back pack. He watched Nothing lull in the street from his window . Nothing glittered high above in the night sky. Nothing rattled in the space between his ears.

And he wasn't happy. But he wasn't unhappy.

He was neither. He was nothing. He fit right in.

And then she was there in the middle of Nothing swinging her guitar and grinning. She put-put-putted down the street, the hum of her vespa humming through the Nothing, filling it, transforming it. Pulsing.

And then she was gone.

But the pulse remained, vibrating along the streets and through the halls and stirring the water.

He felt it rise up his spine when he looked up to see the shine and blink of a thousand possible unknowns in rising behind the moon. His skin felt alive with some hidden buzz , filled his head with plumes of motorbike smoke.

And that was Something.