Now as much as I was fond of my mother and really coming to appreciate her, it was with my father that I got to have some fun. He would play more interactive games with me, as well as toss me around and float me through the air with telekinesis—something he started doing, once he found out I had an interest in it. Of course, he originally started with activities more in line with what one might expect an infant to appreciate, like peek-a-boo, but soon realized that I wasn't too amused with such simplicities—I had long since established the idea of object permanence. Instead, he would play a game similar to cup shuffle where you hid a ball under one of three cups—only this one was done in the air with telekinesis—and have me guess. I was pretty good at this game, though if he wanted to, he could move them very quickly. I think he sometimes cheated too... And if he wanted to get me flustered, which he seemed to find rather amusing, he would give me a riddle. I am terrible with riddles and could spend hours spinning my wheels in futility, and he would never give me the answer!!

Still, just the fact that I was able to engage in these activities would make me out to be a super genius for someone my biological age, my parents certainly seemed to think so. One would think that parents would be proud of their child for displaying such remarkable feats of intelligence, and I think my parents were, to an extent. Honestly, I think they would have been prouder if I was just a little bit less intelligent. Don't get me wrong, they certainly did praise me for it, but I felt like they were always waiting for the truth to be revealed, for the curtain to be pulled back. That there was something that wasn't as it should be. Of course, they were right, though I don't think it was nearly as bad as they were thinking. Still, I disliked causing them distress. They had been really great to me so far, but it couldn't be helped for now—I had a mission after all. I would try to assuage them when I got older and could act a little bit closer to my age.

Despite these vague and veiled concerns, my father took every opportunity to enrich my life. He didn't seem to have many responsibilities when he wasn't on one of his hunts, unlike my mother, who was always busy with something productive. As a result, he would always take me on "adventures," though I am using this term loosely. (This word has been abused!) While my mother would take me around town, my father would take me out into the wild... Or the area immediately around the village, mother was not down with any real bushwhacking, despite my father and my protests.

I greatly appreciate these romps just around the outskirts of town. It reminded me of my former life wandering the parks with my previous father before things had turned out the way they had. And these forests really did seem magical, some of the plants would glow in the dark giving off blue, violet, and red hues. And there were also large crystals that gave off enough light to outshine even the brightest torch, seeming to have punched out of the ground like spears. Plant life liked to grow around them, and I wondered if this had anything to do with the flora's tendency to give off light. Father was unsure about that, but he did say that they contributed greatly to the lushness of the forest. He would point out a number of different plants and animals. Some of them were quite similar to creatures from Earth, others not so much. I would give you the names of some of the things he showed me, but since we don't use spoken language, there isn't a word to delineate them, just the raw idea.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

It was during one of these father-son outings, that the question suddenly occurred to me, "Father, why do we have names?" I asked him this question, however before I get to his reply, I feel like this question might need some explanation. When I said name, what I was referring to was why we associated ourselves with other things. Now these things we were being associated with didn't have verbal names associated with them and existed in conversations in the form of raw ideas. So when we used a name to refer to someone, what we were actually doing was invoking the idea of this outside entity. If you find this confusing, then that is fair.

"Hmm," He stalled for time to think as he fidgeted with the beard of his mask. His mask was a deep red and depicted what I assumed was some kind of demon, with large tusk-like teeth and a large nose. As previously mentioned, this mask was a bit intense, but fortunately, riding on his shoulders, I didn't have to look at it much. "You are always making me think, Indigo. Really should arrange for you to meet the elder, so you can ask him all these questions." Father would often get a bit flustered when I asked him a question that required him to think. Well, served him right for always asking those riddles. However, it did seem odd that he would be fond of riddles when he wasn't much one for thinking, but perhaps he just liked asking them... jerk. "Well, I suppose it's a gesture of respect."

"Respect?"

"Yes, respect. Like acknowledging that you value the other person." I might have just been seeing things, but it did appear that Father was a bit pleased with his answer. Apparently, he had never contemplated this question until prompted. "Oh, also it is useful for conversing with people who are unfamiliar with an individual." That made sense. Telepathy worked best when one had a shared reference. If that was absent, you had to share sensory information, which isn't as reliable. In the case of referencing an unknown individual, these names would serve as something very close to a conventional verbal name. That being said, in a close-knit community such as ours, this latter application didn't seem like something that would come up too often. So, I was inclined to believe that the former was the reason that names were employed. At this thought, I was reminded of a line from Dale Carnegie's great work "How to Win Friends and Influence People," "There is no sweeter sound to one's ear than the sound of his name." Perhaps there was far more wisdom in this practice of naming than one might initially think.