Chapter Text
At one point there had been a door, at one point this had been a room. Now all that remained was a place.
The human mind or brain is almost incapable of distinguishing between the real and the vividly imagined experience.
There was no smell, no feeling, just empty space; an absence. Like he had fallen through a seam in the world, some gap in reality.
Sound and film and music and radio. Even these manipulative experiences are received more or less directly and uninterpreted by the mind.
The box wasn’t anything. And he supposed at this point neither was he. He never grew hungry, nor tired. Sleep only served to pass time in a place in which time never seemed to pass.
They are cataloged and recorded and either acted upon directly, or stored in the memory, or both. Now this process, unless paid tremendous attention, begins to separate us from the reality of the now.
Dawned in a white uniform Peter paced from wall to wall. Or what at least could be assumed to be a wall, maybe he's walking from ceiling to floor, up and down instead of side to side. Back and forth all the same.
Was I being Clear?
His hands traced patterns as he went. Intricate designs that his eyes couldn’t see and that disappeared as soon as he moved. Back and forth he went hoping that his wandering fingers would find some flaw, some divot, some unconformity. Just something different, anything different.
For we must allow the reality of the now to just happen, as it happens. Observe and act with clarity.
Back and forth.
For where there is clarity, there is no choice.
Then back and forth again.
And where there is choice, there is misery.
Again and again.
But then, why did I speak when I know nothing.