One night to far

Before, warmth, cold, dark, light, wet, dry, noise, and quiet all these things had no meaning.
There was movement and not movement. There was warmth, the pulsating rhythm of life, and darkness; but none of these terms existed, none of them needed defined, they were all that existence entailed. And then they weren't.

The first sensation was of a movement, different from the norm. Everything was moving, in a new way, and then the world grew smaller. The companion moved first and away. Alone in the world that was not the world known, things grew tight and the new movement grew stronger and tighter and changed. It seemed like all things were coming to an end.

Suddenly, something new. All at once what was before became known as warm and dark, because what was now was not these things. What was now was cold, and flashes of brightness assaulted. All at once the new life was aware that it was an individual. It was aware that it had left the warm darkness to meet the cold and bright. It hated the cold, it hated the bright. It wanted to be warm and dark again.

Its body felt pain, it was confused, it did not know what to do. In silence it suffered. It hated all this change, hated everything, it wanted to do... something against it. It laid still and silent not knowing what to do, and then finally, just as its brief existence nearly blinked out, it moved something within itself, in later life it would call them lungs, and it took the cold into itself. It hated the cold but the cold gave it more life. As the cold was forced from it, it made a sound of protest against this new existence. It had been initiated, made dependent on this cold which drew into its body and left it again as it continued to make sounds of protest.

This new existence was not easy, it would require new movements, new sensations. It could not just live and be, and for these reasons it hated it.

Then something new, touch, something touched it, rough and wet against its already damp and coated body, it was touched, and moved. The cold that surrounded it was made less. It felt something familiar... the companion from the life before. Then it felt something more, Warmth, sweet warmth drew near and embraced it. Again, the tiny new life felt the urge to do something it had not. It moved itself, towards something. It continued to protest the cold, and it fought to escape it by drawing near the warmth. As it drew as much of its body as it could to the warmth, it could feel something. It was much fainter now; but this was the feeling of the world before. The warmth, the pulsing, it was safe here, safe near the life before.

The sounds of protest grew quiet, here was safe, here was warm. When it buried its head it could even hide from light. Horrible light, which hurt it and was new and awful. There were sounds, new sounds, loud sounds. Everything in this new existence was louder than the pulsing had been. Every time the warmth moved, the tiny new life would try to pull itself closer.