"Something has happened in Moldymoor" said the will-o'-the-wisp haltingly, "something impossible to understand. Actually, it's still happening. It's hard to describe--the way it began was--well, in the east of our country there's a lake--that is, there was a lake--Lake Foamingbroth we called it. Well, the way it began was like this. One day Lake Foamingbroth wasn't there anymore--it was gone. See?"
"You mean it dried up?" Gluckuk inquired.
"No," said the will-o'-the-wisp. "Then there'd be a dried-up lake. But there isn't. Where the lake used to be there's nothing--absolutely nothing. Now do you see?"
"A hole?" the rock chewer grunted.
"No, not a hole," said the will-o'-the- wisp despairingly. "A hole, after all, is something. This is nothing at all."
The three other messengers exchanged glances.
"What--hoo--does this nothing look like?" asked the night-hob.
"That's just what's so hard to describe," said the will-o'-the -wisp unhappily. "it doesn't look like anything. It's--it's like--oh, there's no word for it."
...
(taken from Ende, M 1983, The Neverending Story, trans. Manheim, R, Penguin, London, p. 19)
Fan's of The Neverending Story will enjoy the following story.
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