Zero words, zero words. Zero. Something must begin. A letter has to find itself at the forefront of an inspirational revolution against silence. One letter might have the ring in its oration that summons singulars of all languages onto its page in hope of constructing collective meaning.
It is the story of one letter in pursuit of context.
This letter was born from the womb of a single sound. A flick of the tongue in a poor man’s mouth wallowing in prayer for a lord or a sun. That sound carried with it an innate sense of self, to later be attributed by symbols and signs conveying a world of meaning within itself.
With time, the symbols faded and the power of this sound diminished to find itself confined behind a single line curved at a degree not bigger or smaller than its supposed be.
The letter woke up one day drenched in ink with a vague memory of where it used to be. It looked at its weird body sometimes bent, sometimes stroked and fondled by another letter foreign to its kind. It lived without consent and it died just as unwillingly. The struggle however existed upon its creation, the awakening it experienced and bursts of memory and love it felt while being drawn were irrevocable and glorious. But then it felt lonely by itself as though incomplete and dysfunctional; it yearned for the cursive interlocking of fellow letters no matter how inconvenient looking. They all felt that they were contributing to a cause, in deed they were soldiering to conquer a new mind.
It is in that transformative age that the letter wished it could live. It is in that provocative and tear jerking advance it wished to sustain. The letter stands still today bare and single pushed farther away from meaning and relevance. When needed it springs to action in eternal hope that this time is different, this time a message will be conveyed and a mind will be nurtured. It however finds itself smudged then erased and betrayed.
The drama of this single letter unfolds the moment it is placed on an empty page; not because of its weakness in solitude, but because of its power when in a collective context. It transcends ink and sound to become a symphony and a war. Shoulder to shoulder letters soldier through, until a literary revolution is born.