This soul, whom we of a certain disposition shall call Luke, began his life in a very cramped box.
He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy; he liked fruit and bread. He lived most of his life in danger of fainting from exhaustion; none the less he dwelled until he was fifteen inside this box. But one day he fell out of the box.
When he violently plunged outwards, he fell into a cube. The cube was exactly as he thought it would be, exactly how the poets of his time described cubes.
A face here, a face there, some corners, a canvas of endurance, some width, some height, some volume, some length, and oh, what's this?
It was a very special indeed, as it occurred to him that a cube was in fact very similar to a box, just a bit more of a shade of lavender.
When he instantaneously turned sixteen he had his very first kiss, a stupid and ultimately worthless kiss that he still remembers with great fondness.
The next day he discovered the truth about heartbreak, which was that it's not nearly as full of pompous purpose as some had led him to believe.
It was very quiet, as it was in fact not too dissimilar from a severe case of generalized muscle pain.
By the next diurnal course, he was eighteen and thus capable of every rational adult decision. And so, he never made a right perfection wrongly disgraced.
That is, until he coincidentally met a particularly noble creature whose name we shall avoid to protect her anonymity.
It was at this time that our hero, whose name we shall avoid on the basis that we have forgotten it and it was invented and thus never important to begin with, turned well and truly irrational.
That was the end of all that
The very next winter he split into two perfectly symmetrical halves, both in competitive collaboration against each other.
The inaugural half insisted on returning to the box, as it was perhaps never a good idea to have left it.
The latter half disagreed, and assuredly declared that it was a much better idea to continue moving on the downward slope.
Eventually both halves divided themselves into four, then eight, then sixteen, then for one strange week they were 127, only to be 256 the very next day.
This kept inevitably happening until our main character, whose name you now looked up the page to remember and thus eliminate the need for me to help you recall, was so small he could not be seen with the human eye.
By nightfall, he was a fine powdery mist. In the morning he adventurously jaunted northward and was breathed by a young boy, who we shall call Luke.
It was at this stage that Luke realized that he distinctly had never left the box.
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