Anaxagoras the Foolish, esteemed scholar and philosopher, lived to answer only two queries: whether the soul could persist after death, and the true nature of humankind. After countless years of research he had finally proved his hypothesis with the glorious execution of his self-annihilation– the perfect finale to life’s grand farce, his very existence validating the moniker his enemies had ridiculed him with. The Great Performer, they called him, yet he had embraced the title until his death. He had perished laughing, fading into Thanatos’ arms even when he was reduced to nothing.

He was a proud man– a trait that carried onto the imprint of his essence, his nous, his soul. After witnessing, no, becoming the height of human purity, he expected that he’d be venerated as the embodiment of reason; the world would know of Anaxagoras and the hypothesis that transcended the boundaries of life and death, tremble at his name and nurture the seed of suspicion he had sewn into human conscience. He would use his death, write a thesis and let humanity trample on his body as a means to light a torch for the pursuit of truth.

Alas, fate was cruel. Like an old wives’ tale, his spirit was unable to leave the living plane, forced to endure a humiliating half-life that was less than one tenths of the greatness he had imagined– exactly why he was delighted when someone finally spoke to him after years of waiting. You, an unassuming human psychic, were someone he could take advantage of, someone that could finally help him move into the afterlife as originally intended.

But it had been two years and no progress was made. What more, you were absolutely infuriating. What you had done in two years, even with his help, was less than what he could have accomplished in two days. If he was in your place, he would have passed on in less than an hour. He cursed the fact that his form remained incorporeal to everything except your touch, therefore unable to do anything that mattered.

“Get up,” he finally commanded, unable to stand your inaction anymore. His words were law, yet you dissented with astonishing folly. Perhaps he would have been impressed if it weren't for the sheer exasperation he felt after a duration of absolutely nothing. “It has been hours since you even glanced at the equation I laid out for you.”