An Eternity, For Science

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It was not suicide; it was a calculated risk. The dissertation was the cumulation of fourteen years of intensive study and planning, that now boiled down to a critically calibrated balance of probabilities.

He pressed the alcohol swap against his flesh, goosebumps raised in grim anticipation. The needle was painfully blunt and his veins as elusive as the answers he sought to complete his thesis. But on his third try, he drew back the plunger and saw red mixed with white.

Finally, he thought, and drove the mixture into his bloodstream. There were only two possibilities; yes or no. A carefully calculated seven point two four grams of white powder, and accordingly, a fifty percent chance of survival balanced against a fifty percent chance of death. Only when the secluded room he locked himself into was compromised would he know which it was. But until then, his mortality tethered precariously on the cusp of death; neither alive nor dead, and yet inexplicably both alive and dead. Time stretched out into tiny eternities—two seconds, thirteen, forty. Nothing.

His heart stutters.

One. His limbs are sluggish and heavy as if caught underwater; he pitches infinitely into a blinding blue glow characteristic to that of cherenkov radiation, faster than light—

Two. He curls up against his betrothed, breathing her scent in and contemplates idly if the world is truly coming to an end. That is what the soothsayers claim in any case, that cataclysmic events in space will force the extinction of this asteroid in its two thousand and twelve year. That the sun is made out of billions of tons of bananas, and that the rapid cooling from its initial heat has now dipped into dangerously low levels levels, leading to the increasingly alarming phenomena aptly named the Global Chill. It is an absurd notion, but the soothsayers have yet to be wrong in their predictions. Though, this plight came at a rather unfortunate timing. He has only just successfully completed a rather lengthy mating ritual. He sighs and nuzzles her pointed ear tenderly and begins preparing for the day regardless. If he opens the door, will he find a familiar world or an abyss of dark matter? His tail flicks hesitantly. He takes a few steadying breaths—



Ninety-seven. An euphoria in utopia. A paradox that is simultaneously a perfect reality and nowhere. Who knew that all along, the secrets of the cosmos are the simplest ones, which is that—

Three oh three. If he sits still enough, he can feel a pulsing heartbeat in the echos of his own. Your antithesis, they called it, whereby every action will have an equal and opposite reaction. Occasionally, when the gunfire let up and the quietness unsettling, he wonders what kind of life his antimatter twin lived. If instead of the war strewn landscape he has known all his life, his doppelgänger lives amidst a city of glass and concrete. Every time the water was cut off, he curses the other for taking a bath. He has an inexplicable love for bitter black coffee, so he imagines that his antithesis lives in Britain with an unhealthy obsession for tea in with a dash of milk. On days when he feels particularly morbid, he wonders if somewhere on the other side of the globe, his antithesis lay bed-bound and disease-ridden to make up for the adrenaline pumping through his veins everyday. When he hears a click as he steps onto a landmine one day, he wonders if his life had saved his antithesis', or took it away—

Thousand four nine five. He is at once a scientist, a philosopher, a pirate. He is in Austria and he is in Singapore. There is an infinite number of worlds that coalesce and pull apart with every movement he makes—

Four hundred thousand eight hundred and two. He gazes wearily at the sun that never set, or never rose, depending on how one looks at it. The sun flirted with the sea horizons, casting soft amber and deep crimson hues that dance across the pink cotton candy sky. Dull. He pauses to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow, then resumes monotonously pulling weeds from the ground. If he steps across the left-flanking boundary into the Land of Perpetual Day, he can glimpse the most revered beauty of a world with a cerulean sky and spotless white clouds. If he steps across the right-flanking boundary into the Land of Perpetual Night, he can glimpse the much lauded beauty of the incandescent pattern of white amidst a midnight sky. He does not have the resources to make the crossing yet, so he continues weeding as he has yesterday and as he will tomorrow. Eventually, when he has gathered enough weeds, he will request an audience with the Little Prince who rules over this tidally locked planet. He muses idly if the weeds he has gathered yesterday and tomorrow will impress His Highness. Well, if it does not, he supposes he could always threaten to release the weeds near His Beloved Rose—

Nine billion and ten. He is there for less than a second and more than a thousand years. Time loses all relevancy in the vast eternity stretching out before him that was at once infinitely expanding and impossibly beautiful... which abruptly converges into one universe. He blinks. The worlds tip—

(The door wrenched open, panicked shouts, hurried footsteps. An interference.

His breath fluttered.

An eternity shattered.)

About the Author: 
Just a student trying to get by. Hope you enjoyed this short piece (: