Then sometime in late February we woke up where we were before. Everyone else became vines. At first I thought this was another one of your tricks, but I parted the curtains and saw winter dawning on the grass. You’re not capable of that.
One of the machines growled. The noise was everywhere. It worked its way through my bones and shook my core. For a moment, I felt nothing. Then the feeling subsided.
“Where?”
Your voice resonated across the room. However tentative the question was, its expression was powerful and robust. I felt compelled to answer but I didn’t want to lie. “I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m right here. I’m right here beside you.”
“Oh. Good.”
You were sarcastic. I sensed it in your tone. You have a tendency to project your insecurity on others. I pride myself on my ability to read the room without bias. There is an objective truth in every statement, and salvation is extracting it from your own words.
“Balderdash!”
“What?”
“There is no such thing as an objective truth. We observe the world and make assumptions and give names to things. An objective truth would make all that redundant.”
This is what I hoped you would’ve said at that moment. I guess you were too tired to complain.
We walked outside for a bit. Everyone else became vines. It was fascinating to see them everywhere.
“How long did we sleep?”
“How long did we not sleep?”
“Huh? How is that relevant?”
“I dunno, I’m just making small talk.”
“ok.”
A great deal of nothingness awaited us outside the hall. I’m being hyperbolic, of course. It wasn’t completely over. The sun was still around, peering over in the distance.
There was some grass. It was tew with wed. We sat on the witty grass. A flock of giant birds settled in the distance.
“This is nice.”
“You only say that because it’s warm, and you like having your butt against a warm surface, because it makes you feel special.”
“Sorry.”
Some time passed, and another machine sighed. The birds took flight. The feeling was gone again, and when it came back the grass was cold.
We got up and went to the giant eye. It blinked sluggishly at our sight. I jumped in, and you gasped. “Ew! Aqueous humor!”
“It’s fine! You have it in your eyes all the time.”
“Oh. Okay.”
When you joined I could tell you were still put-off. Why didn’t you complain? I wanted you to complain. I wish you told me how disgusting this was. If you were just honest with me for one moment and told me what a repulsive human being I am, I would have appreciated you so much more. But you were scared of me, and then I was scared of you. That was the only thing I could think of whenever I looked at you. How close we were to unity.
“More like gross-out humor!”
“You’re frightened.”
“I know. You’re frightened, too. We both wanna go home.”
“Why don’t we?”
“Because my car broke down and it’s not within walking distance.”
“Since when do you know how to drive?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter anymore now that I can’t drive. So, for all intents and purposes, in the current situation we are in, I may as well never have learned how to drive. Sorry for lying to you.”
“It’s okay. We both knew this would happen at some point. I don’t suppose we have much control over this anymore.”
“Hey, have you been spouting nonsense for the past ten minutes?”
“No. I didn’t say anything. What are you on about?”
“I’m just asking because I think I lost track of time.”
“You’re looking for track of time? I think I know where it is! Last time I saw it was under this thing. We have to go to the other side.”
“After you, then!”
We trudged through the cornea, over the iris and into the pupil. A powerful vortex sucked us in, and after a minute we found ourselves in Wake up. The overworld is just behind the corner.”
Woah. Everything was again. I think that, for a moment, it was also me. But now it’s back to normal. How droll.
“Now arriving at Sector Φ.”
I collapsed on one of the padded seats, which I discovered was cold and naively lifeless. This problem befell all the other seats, too. A fire walked through the doors and took the chair on my left. I tapped on its shoulder. “Hey, do you think you could warm these seats?”
It scoffed. “Leave me alone,” the fire crackled. Its voice was so soft and calming, such that I forgot my seat had ever been stiff. “I do not wish to indulge in your affairs.” I never felt so happy. I rested my head on its shoulder, and my body glowed. “You are a terrible person.” At this point I realized I had fallen in love with the flames, and there was no going back. If I could just sit here for all eternity, and all my worries would wait outside, then everything would be good. “I hate you.” I just wanted to live in this one, beautiful, impeccable moment.
“Now arriving at Sector Χ.”
The fire stood up and hurried through the newly-opened doors, into the ever-expanding plane of time. And from that temporal foam a new challenger emerged—a slender figure in a trench coat, boasting upon a faceless countenance a pair of gaping, luminous golden eyes. The creature retrieved a pocketwatch and inspected it briefly, then took the seat opposite me.
I felt around. Only when the fire left I realized how cold and dark the car actually was. How frightening it was to be alone.
The train resumed its journey. All that lay beyond the window seemed so content. Everything was in tune, and everything had a purpose, and everything complemented anything. But that world was fleeting, and only a minute—perhaps insignificant—portion of the track passed through it. Soon the train would leave this place, and go back to the general chaos it was used to. But how wonderful this momentary peace was.
Funnily enough, there was nothing behind the window, as far as I could tell. Only the reflection of my figure, and of the figure in the back of the car whose yellow gaze was fixed on me.
Oh. Okay. Okay. Er…
I turned around. Its eyes were actually laid on its pocketwatch again, which at some point it had again retrieved and held out at arm’s length exactly in my direction. How peculiar.
Another of the machines snarled, its metallic jaws rising and falling to admit a harrowing quake across the universe. The train rumbled slightly, but in that moment I could feel nothing.
When I let my eyes wander absently, I could swear in my peripheral vision the figure’s gaze did lock on me again. It did nothing more than stare at me in complete silence. I shifted in my seat. Please stop looking at me.
I chanced another glance at the creature. Our gazes met for a mere instant, after which its outstretched pocketwatch popped into existence to separate them again. Something was up.
“Please stop looking at me.”
It lowered the watch and now stared into my soul. “Caw.”
“Excuse me?”
«Χρό».
It vanished. In fact it never existed. I’m uncertain what “it” refers to, honestly. But I’m sure it was unimportant.
“Now arriving at Sector Ψ.”
The doors slid open, and you stepped into the car.
“Ah, there you are! I was looking for you in .”
“What made you think I’d be there?”
“I dunno. That’s the impression I’ve been getting from you.”
“Do you not know me at all?”
“No. This is the first time we’ve spoken in a septillion—”
“Look, I get it. If you don’t wanna talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it. We’re only one stop away anyway.”
“Alright.”
You sat next to me, a thousand miles apart. After you began tapping on your knees absently and I followed suit, suddenly an odd revelation came to me. In all my existence I had never felt as I did today such keen, fervid, passionate, profound nullity. I was disturbed that my mind was even capable of comprehending this intense nothingness. But there I was, feeling nothing at all. It was trippy.
Behind the window, marvelous stars and galaxies passed idly by the train, a cosmos reborn before my very eyes. Perhaps somewhere in this chaotic soup the seeds of life had already been sown.
No. That didn’t do anything.
Why didn’t that do anything? Why can’t I feel anything‽
“Help! Please, I can’t feel anything!”
You were too far away to hear. That should’ve alarmed me.
“Please! I need to feel something! I need to hear your voice! Just say something! Anything!”
You didn’t budge.
“You don’t understand how important this is! It’s the only thing I like about myself! I’m dying!”
You didn’t listen.
“I know you’re mad! We can figure this out together, just please don’t let me go! It’s… it’s the machine! It must be! If you can just help me out this one time, we could—”
“Don’t you get it?”
“Huh?”
“There is no machine. There is no grand conspiracy. No one is out to get you, you’re not important enough and you never will be. You’re a miniscule disturbance in a massive universe, not worth any cosmic engine’s processing power. You’re as free as can be, yet you choose not to accept that fact because you think it gives you purpose. It doesn’t.”
“No, that’s not true! Maybe in the vast comic scale I am insignificant, but who’s to say that scale is any more useful than, say, the quantum scale? I am both tiny and gigantic. I am everything I wish to be. I have control and thought and freedom.”
“Nonsense. You are no different than a mass of pebbles, cleverly stacked so that it mimics this petty abstraction it calls consciousness. You’re the machine. You have no feelings because you never did. There is no deeper existence within you beyond your physical body, which is precisely what makes you trivial.”
“In that case, everything that exists is trivial, if you’re a materialist.”
“Yes! Everything is trivial! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past nonillion—”
“Then why do you bother? If it doesn’t matter, why do you insist to deny me the blissful ignorance that I am significant?”
“I… I don’t know. I don’t know.”
You paused for a moment. I couldn’t see you.
“I’m sorry.”
A great silence followed. The universe outside had neared its modern form, and its evolution rapidly slowed down. Stars settled into place, and their planets into steady orbits. With a soft and piercing screech, the train decelerated as it neared the bay platform, and the singularity cocooned us.
How nice it was to be back home. Or wherever we were.
“Now arriving at Sector Ω.”
“Well, here we are.”
Behind the sliding doors was an overcast evening in late February, where the vines were people walking home in the dark. The grass rustled under our feet and through the wind. Or did the wind rustle through the grass? I guess there’s not much of a difference.
I turned around, and track of time was gone. For a moment I wondered where it went—it had seemingly reached its final stop, and track of time is, of course, unidirectional. But then I realized that, wherever its next stop would be, it would not affect my life whatsoever. Perhaps for that very reason there was no next stop.
“Well, it’s been a pleasure.”
You reached out and shook my hand.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some business to attend to. A lot to, er… make up for.”
“Yes. I think I concur. So I guess I’ll see you again in… what is it?”
“February 30th.”
“Hm.”