This universe consists of a mud puddle and a void. In the puddle, tenants carefully pore over each mud-molecule, sucking them, testing to find one that tastes good. Another group has disavowed this first group, and leaving their midst, is incessantly, unswervingly intent on creating new particles of mud from old ones.
Once, a man somehow found himself on the edge of the puddle, perched on the edge of the unknown void. Dissatisfied with the taste of all the ugly specks and uncertain of the quality of recycled ones, which seemed so quickly to end up back in the first pile, he pondered the possibilities of Void.
"It's dangerous out there!" said a friend as he looked on.
"You've been there?" he replied.
"Of course not! It's dangerous," retorted the onlooker.
"Oh." The man swung his legs over Void and felt the fresh breezes against his bare feet. He jumped off the edge of the world and began to fall.
As he fell, he heard voices above, "Idiot! No one has ever returned!" from one side, and "You're still just one of us!" from the other.
To his surprise, he landed lightly on solid ground. For the first time in his life, he felt grass between his toes. He started walking, kept walking, until the mud puddles were lost, themselves specks in the vast expanse of Void.
He never returned.