high in the sky. He thought of her smile now as he floated in and out of full consciousness, her lips a soft and slowly unraveling blanket. How easy it would be to crawl into a blanket such as that, to wrap himself in it, to roll over just once so the fraying cotton would caress him front and back, then to drift off into dreamless sleep…
The sound of bells emerged smoothly and yet unnaturally from the whisper of wind and water. Samuel and Penny watched idly as the other colonists began their half-hearted scurry toward the meal halls, drawn by their hunger, driven away by their fear.
Penny gestured to her mouth and asked, “Do you want eat?”
He decided he was hungry, and together they stood and began to stroll toward the nearest hall. He thought rather lazily that this was a different meal hall than the one in which he had spent the morning in concentrated thought, and he decided it was not so bad after all that there was no furniture in the halls, since they would now be encouraged to take their meals outside to eat in the shade of a spreading tree. Then, as they neared the hall, a current raced through his body as though he had just emerged, near-drowning, from a pool of icy water and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. He left Penny behind and took off running toward the meal hall, racing to catch up with his thoughts, which cried out in a mixture of self-shamed disbelief and wild, joyous excitement, until he burst through the doorway of the hall and skidded to a stop inside.
The other halls! Why had he not thought before to investigate the other halls? Samuel fought to catch his breath as he stood at the entrance of another near-empty meal hall. The few colonists inside hung close to the walls and eased toward the door as he entered. Samuel ignored them. He went to the wall and inspected those seams, then turned his attention to the floor. Everything appeared to be identical to the first hall. His enthusiasm scarcely dampened, Samuel rushed to a third meal hall, then a fourth. They too were empty and clean. But in the fifth hall, he found what he had been looking for.
Against one wall, under a row of windows, lay a narrow piece of metal about the length of his hand. It was part of a window latch that had apparently snapped off and fallen to the floor. Yet the windows were about four meters above the ground, well beyond the reach of the people of the colony, and few colonists in recent memory had possessed either the desire or ingenuity to even attempt to open or close a window in any of the halls. Moreover, the latch showed no signs of rust or any other wear that might have led to its breaking. Yet there it lay, snapped off by some mysterious force, clearly broken rather than cut, as indicated by the rough edges of the metal. Samuel sat against the wall and weighed the latch in his hand, feeling the cool, smooth surface of the metal and the jagged, broken end. He ran a finger over the tip and realized it was sharp enough to slice his finger if he were to apply a bit more force.
The pressure of the broken latch on his finger triggered some connection in his mind, and he turned and crouched facing the wall. He ran the same finger along the seam in the wall, feeling its two edges under his skin, so close together they almost produced the same single sensation. But there was space between them, albeit only the very narrowest and shallowest of gaps, and at this moment Samuel made the distinction between emptiness and extension, nothing and something, zero and one. The broken latch was one thing, one entity, while the seam itself was not a thing, not an entity in and of itself, but an absence of entities, a gap in the wholeness, the oneness of the wall.
Furthermore, these states of oneness and nothingness were not fixed, but fluid. Space could be filled by bodies with extension, and such bodies could also be removed or broken to create empty space once more. In this way, the latch, which had once been part of a single
The sound of bells emerged smoothly and yet unnaturally from the whisper of wind and water. Samuel and Penny watched idly as the other colonists began their half-hearted scurry toward the meal halls, drawn by their hunger, driven away by their fear.
Penny gestured to her mouth and asked, “Do you want eat?”
He decided he was hungry, and together they stood and began to stroll toward the nearest hall. He thought rather lazily that this was a different meal hall than the one in which he had spent the morning in concentrated thought, and he decided it was not so bad after all that there was no furniture in the halls, since they would now be encouraged to take their meals outside to eat in the shade of a spreading tree. Then, as they neared the hall, a current raced through his body as though he had just emerged, near-drowning, from a pool of icy water and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. He left Penny behind and took off running toward the meal hall, racing to catch up with his thoughts, which cried out in a mixture of self-shamed disbelief and wild, joyous excitement, until he burst through the doorway of the hall and skidded to a stop inside.
The other halls! Why had he not thought before to investigate the other halls? Samuel fought to catch his breath as he stood at the entrance of another near-empty meal hall. The few colonists inside hung close to the walls and eased toward the door as he entered. Samuel ignored them. He went to the wall and inspected those seams, then turned his attention to the floor. Everything appeared to be identical to the first hall. His enthusiasm scarcely dampened, Samuel rushed to a third meal hall, then a fourth. They too were empty and clean. But in the fifth hall, he found what he had been looking for.
Against one wall, under a row of windows, lay a narrow piece of metal about the length of his hand. It was part of a window latch that had apparently snapped off and fallen to the floor. Yet the windows were about four meters above the ground, well beyond the reach of the people of the colony, and few colonists in recent memory had possessed either the desire or ingenuity to even attempt to open or close a window in any of the halls. Moreover, the latch showed no signs of rust or any other wear that might have led to its breaking. Yet there it lay, snapped off by some mysterious force, clearly broken rather than cut, as indicated by the rough edges of the metal. Samuel sat against the wall and weighed the latch in his hand, feeling the cool, smooth surface of the metal and the jagged, broken end. He ran a finger over the tip and realized it was sharp enough to slice his finger if he were to apply a bit more force.
The pressure of the broken latch on his finger triggered some connection in his mind, and he turned and crouched facing the wall. He ran the same finger along the seam in the wall, feeling its two edges under his skin, so close together they almost produced the same single sensation. But there was space between them, albeit only the very narrowest and shallowest of gaps, and at this moment Samuel made the distinction between emptiness and extension, nothing and something, zero and one. The broken latch was one thing, one entity, while the seam itself was not a thing, not an entity in and of itself, but an absence of entities, a gap in the wholeness, the oneness of the wall.
Furthermore, these states of oneness and nothingness were not fixed, but fluid. Space could be filled by bodies with extension, and such bodies could also be removed or broken to create empty space once more. In this way, the latch, which had once been part of a single
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