everywhere at once. Unfortunately, the muscle of my memory is numb, and my line of concentration has been wavering. I must rest.
Actually, I must restructure myself inside out. Perhaps I'll fast.
That's one way to restructure and save money at the same time.
Caitlin Sweeney came to see me . The old lady was surprised at this mess. She didn't know I'd lost my teaching post. I think she was drunk. She wanted to see the mirror and the photo again, and she sat for a long time by the window looking at them. She wanted to know what they meant. I was five or six gins into forgetting that day, and I told her everything I've guessed about the ghost hole. When I was done, she asked why other scientists weren't studying what had happened to Carl. I tried to tell her that the mirror had become scientifically inadmissible after I took it off the wall, but I cracked up-laughing as much as cryingand that scared her o$: Later, as it was growing darker and I was coming up from that day's drunk, I remembered her bird-bright eyes and the queer way she peered at the photo close up, the silver of leer breath cutting the gloss again and again until she was sure of what she was seeing. And now I'm sure. Carl isn't screaming with pain in this photo. He's grimacing with intense pleasure!
-excerpts from The Decomposition Notebook by Zeke Zhdarnov
Orgasm ignited him. Hot as the sun's weight, space molded his shape. He tried to move but could not budge the pleasure. He tried to see and saw a hard blue sky, deeper than his sight, quivering with delight. Listening, he heard his heart moaning and his blood sizzling in his ears.
The voltage of the orgasm wearied, and the himshaped heat melted to a delicate warmth.
'YOU ARE AWAKE!' A blowtorch voice seared his hearing, and his whole being juddered.
'Excuse me,' the voice said more softly, deep as a man's but lissome as a woman's. The words came from every direction. 'Can you tell me who you are?'
He tried to speak, but his voice had to cross a dreamgap between his will and his breath. When at last the words came, the sound of his voice subtracted him from the pleasurable stillness, and he immediately felt himself upfalling, floating and turning through the blue nothing: 'Who wants to know?'
Carl drifted a long time. Blue filled the hollow bodiless center of his mind with peace. Memory was a soft distance.
Expectation was unbegun.
So when the voice returned, directionless as smoke, intimate as a friend, the words embraced all of him, and he listened rapt as the face of the world 'At the end of time, in the last million years of the universe, an unusual creature drifts through the slow hurry of evolution into the glory and anguish of selfawareness: It is an eld skyle, and it is I. I am vast by human standards: a cubic kilometer of silaceous cell matrices intricately and delicately interpenetrating. A colossal jellyfish floating in ,a lake: a radiolarial system, highly evolved, yet stationary and witless-looking as a brain without a body. To you I would look like a cloudy pond shimmering with biotic iridescence. Yet what makes me unusual is not my size or unlikely form. I am unusual because I thrive almost wholly on ghosts. I eat the past.'
'Wait a minutel Hold on nowl' Carl called through the thickness of the nightmare. 'Are you saying I'm alive? This isn't the next world?'
'It's another world, Carl,' the gray voice answered.
'How. do you know my name?'
'I know everything about you.'
'Are you-God?'
A hearty laugh towered like a megalith. 'No. I'm as mortal as you. That's why I can assure you-you're not dead.'
'How come I feel I should be?'
'Perhaps because you are, at this moment, bodiless.'
`And you call that alive?' The propinquity of madness alarmed him. 'Where am I? I can't see myself.'
'You are inside me. I am reshaping you. To even begin to understand how this is possible, you must know something about my world. I live in a special region inside the cosmic black hole at the end of time. The universe around me is small and hot. Spacetime has long ago completed its expansion, braked, and begun to fall back on itself. At the time of this telling, one hundred and twenty-five billion years after your star, Sol, cindered to frozen rubble, the whole universe is a mere six hundred thousand parsecs wide, the distance from your earth to the Andromeda galaxy. All of spacetime has been reduced to a mote of what you knew the cosmos to be.'
'I knew the cosmos to go from Brooklyn to the Bronx,'
Carl's voice quaked. 'Where am I?'
'I've told you. You're at the end of time.'
'But why?' Carl whined. 'I was just at home, taking a shower-' ,
'One hundred and thirty billion years ago.'
'I'm hallucinating. I must be hallucinating.'
'Would you rather not hear this?'
'I have a choice?'
'Of course.' The eld skyle's voice had the long patience of a horizon. 'I am narrowing my five-space consciousness to your human smallness because it plea: sures me. It's not at all necessary. If you prefer, I'll just pass you on into my world.
Words are useful only if you can believe them. In your case, perhaps, experience itself is the best teacher.'
