In the beginning there was. Was what? Just was.
There was and there was and there was, all sorts of was, all kinds and colours and kins of was.
So much was there was, that the whole was was terribly confused.
(This was before wasn't, you understand, and every possible thing was).
There was so much was, that something had to be done about it, and so it came to pass that ninety-nine was out of every hundred decided, all at once and forever, to become a wasn't.
Things were much more comfortable after this, but there was still too much was, far too much.
So again, ninety-nine was out of every hundred remaining was flipped over inside itself and became a wasn't.
I don't know where they went. Maybe they started being wasn'ts here the moment they became wases somewhere else. In any case, it wasn't our problem anymore, and that's the important thing.
Now. If you can imagine, we're still at the beginning, just a little bit further in, and now there's enough space to make sense of what there actually was there, without things getting too crowded.
In the almost-beginning, there was a flatness, and on the flatness lived The People.
I don't know where they came from. I suppose they were just one type of was that didn't become a wasn't. Just chance, I suppose. If the whole thing was run again, maybe it would be different.
The People were alone in the darkness. The nights were cold and vast. Their bodies were small and delicate and finite. The rest of everything was endless.