There’s some way out of this, there’s got to be! I can run, right? I can leave now and hopefully get far enough away that no one will know who I am, not that everyone knows who I am around here anyway. Sure, they could find me, but that would develop into an unnecessarily taxing search all too fast.
That would get tiring fast, though. I’d have to move outside regulation, and that in itself could land me in confinement, and I don’t… well, I don’t think I love my life that much, to risk something like that. If I was in prison the syndicate could find me easier, but it would be just to their advantage to see me rot in confinement for the rest of my natural life, contemplating choices and all that lead me up to where I am now.
But of course the syndicate doesn’t forgive and it would find me and kill me anyway. So at this point here I am. My mind is racing, trying to find the loophole, but there’s no loophole, there’s only what I’ve been over, and I go over it all again in my mind, trying to find some way out, but there’s no way out, there’s no loophole, there’s only what I’ve seen before and NO! There is a way out. Physics demands it! NO! There is no way out.
Am I this way because of my lack of purpose? Well who has purpose to begin with. Nothing short of a last-minute conversion to some religion could convince me otherwise. So why should this upset me? Why shouldn’t this upset me? There’s got to be a way out. I could go to my refrigerator right now and start eating, eat as much as I could in what time I have left and try to make purpose, and then I would die having given purpose to those bits of food and those electrons diverted
Oh, but they don’t care, they don’t. And I will die and that food will have done nothing for me, it won’t help me survive, and even if it did, what then, I would die eventually, and even if I never died, how is that any different? The electrons don’t care, the food doesn’t care, the syndicate cares, and that’s it, and I’m rushed because of it, and damn it, I care. I don’t want to care, I don’t. I will die. I will die. I will die in minutes. I will never be realized, even desperately.
Those eyes, though, they are permeating and staring at me and I have no idea how long they’ve been there but there they are. His mouth is the next thing I notice, when it says, “You are who I’m looking for?”, and then there’s a man there; he’s wearing a black vest and it doesn’t matter how he entered the quarters, does it?
That would get tiring fast, though. I’d have to move outside regulation, and that in itself could land me in confinement, and I don’t… well, I don’t think I love my life that much, to risk something like that. If I was in prison the syndicate could find me easier, but it would be just to their advantage to see me rot in confinement for the rest of my natural life, contemplating choices and all that lead me up to where I am now.
But of course the syndicate doesn’t forgive and it would find me and kill me anyway. So at this point here I am. My mind is racing, trying to find the loophole, but there’s no loophole, there’s only what I’ve been over, and I go over it all again in my mind, trying to find some way out, but there’s no way out, there’s no loophole, there’s only what I’ve seen before and NO! There is a way out. Physics demands it! NO! There is no way out.
Am I this way because of my lack of purpose? Well who has purpose to begin with. Nothing short of a last-minute conversion to some religion could convince me otherwise. So why should this upset me? Why shouldn’t this upset me? There’s got to be a way out. I could go to my refrigerator right now and start eating, eat as much as I could in what time I have left and try to make purpose, and then I would die having given purpose to those bits of food and those electrons diverted
Oh, but they don’t care, they don’t. And I will die and that food will have done nothing for me, it won’t help me survive, and even if it did, what then, I would die eventually, and even if I never died, how is that any different? The electrons don’t care, the food doesn’t care, the syndicate cares, and that’s it, and I’m rushed because of it, and damn it, I care. I don’t want to care, I don’t. I will die. I will die. I will die in minutes. I will never be realized, even desperately.
Those eyes, though, they are permeating and staring at me and I have no idea how long they’ve been there but there they are. His mouth is the next thing I notice, when it says, “You are who I’m looking for?”, and then there’s a man there; he’s wearing a black vest and it doesn’t matter how he entered the quarters, does it?
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