Long, long ago, in a faraway world inhabited by numbers, it was a clear dawn when the world witnessed the birth of a new number. It was a baby as small as a dot, capable of nothing but crying. They named it Zero. The newborn had no merit at the time, but its presence nonetheless gave joy to life in the realm of numbers. The whole country reverberated with the good news of the birth of Zero.
In caring for baby Zero, the numbers took turns. Each number would hold the baby beside it. As the days passed, the numbers noticed something puzzling. Those numbers who gave care in the right way saw a never-seen abundance at home; everything would increase tenfold. The numbers who passed their turns superficially did not see any difference. Was it a sign from God that the numbers could not grasp?
**
And Zero died. They buried it under the quotient line. Roses grew on its grave that were as beautiful as Zero, as noble as One. Thus was commemorated the phrase “one over zero,” in order to refer to this beauty. It was only then that the numbers understood what Zero felt inside. The numbers visited Zero from time to time, whenever they needed a glimpse of beauty stretching from infinity. As powerless as it was, Zero helped others understand infinity not by its existence among them, but by lying below them.
