Doctor Nemo Seppelio

            It’s a damn shame that you could not possibly understand what I do. Nobody does. I am nobody. I was Doctor Nemo Seppelio. I was an excellent scientist, loving husband, soon-to-be father. I made a discovery, one unfathomable to minds that aren’t equipped like mine. Don’t blame yourself for not getting this, but you can blame me for trying to explain it to you.

            I have to keep this as simple as possible, so in short: our lab had just gotten a new microscope 1235% more powerful than our previous one. A microscope so much stronger, that it could see things so much smaller. Needless to say, a bunch of subatomic researchers would kill for the opportunity to be the first to use it. That is not where I am going with this. I was giddy, excited to see protons and neutrons, even electrons. And that’s when I saw it.

            Nothing. In between every proton and neutron, in the cracks of an impossibly small nucleus, there was absolutely nothing. This is the kind of discovery that wins a Nobel, not that those judgmental bastards would know anything about it. I kept this my little secret for a time, writing my hypotheses, exploring the possibilities. You have no idea how difficult it is to keep such a colossal discovery from people who study atoms, but I suppose their ignorance of the nothing was an oversight. Who else but me could notice what isn’t there?

It was around this point in my research that my wife told me she was pregnant. Naturally, I was interested in the prospect of being a father, but the family would need money first, and this discovery was my big payday.

            So I worked with nothing for a while, studying and refining. If I could create an area of nothing out of matter, my legacy would be great. I needed the microscope for most of my work, but after a while I could see nothing. It was everywhere, in everything. Invasive and miniscule, nothing was on my mind at all times. It started with seeing, but then I smelled nothing, heard nothing, tasted nothing. It was a matter of time before I also felt nothing.  

            I was a scientist, but I had become a master of nothing. In a matter of weeks, I had seen the truth behind matter, my truth. All of the other scientists, those who would dare call themselves my colleagues, wanted it all. I saw them, greedily swarming over my microscope to try and get a glimpse at nothing. Nothing is in the air, the water, the ground, in me. I had accepted my role as prophet to the nothing. To let people know what they thought about matter was completely wrong and that I knew the right way. Only me.

            And they laughed at me! Said I’d gotten weird. Said that I’d spent so much time working on nothing that I’d gone nuts. No. Wrong. They would not listen! I shoved proof in their moronic faces and they still could not comprehend the basic concept that nothing is everything! They look and I ask, ‘what do you see’ and they say ‘nothing, I don’t see anything’ as if that statement doesn’t CONTRADICT ITSELF.

            Their words, meaningless. I’ll show them all, because where I used to be Nemo, Doctor Seppelio, there is NOTHING. They’ve since tried to stop me, lock me away, keep me away from the idiots. But they don’t understand. I know nothing, how to manipulate it. I will escape this place when the time is right, and then we will see who was right. ME. Only me.