“No.”
“So you haven’t accepted it yet?”
“What?”
“You are who I’m looking for.”
“Then why did you inquire?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I’m about to dispute until I realize he’s right, that it doesn’t matter. So I ask him, “How are you going to do it?”
He looks around the room, his hands in the pockets of his vest, his eyes conveying an expression of… something. At least it is an expression.
“Does it matter?”
“No.”
“Sure it does!” This surprises me. He’s not smiling, but looks attentive and repeats himself. “Sure it does.”
“Why?”
“Well, hold on. You don’t know me yet. Do you have any, ah… drinks? Anything?”
I smile deeply, but it appears as though he doesn’t notice. “The refrigerator.”
He’s holding two glasses of something. I take one after he hands it to me, and following this the good man sits down across from me. “I know enough about you, I imagine. Anything you want to ask me?”
“You’re my executioner?”
“I guess.” He swirls his glass. He looks around the room. He’s marveling at how tight all the seams are, at how there’s no exit. There’s the door and there’s the window and that’s it. “But that’s a dismal way of looking at it.” Swirls. “I guess it is the only way of looking at it, though.”
“No! There’s another way, right? I mean, there’s got to be an exit somewhere. Otherwise something is, well, no, no, there’s just got to be an exit.” I’m surprisingly calm. “You have the power, right? You’re going to make a choice. You’re going to make a choice to kill me or not to kill me and you have that choice in your mind right now but it hasn’t happened one way or the other yet so until it does you can still change your mind!” I’m not pleading with anyone except myself.
“You don’t believe in free will, do you?”
“No.”
“Will you believe in it at your death?”
“No.”
“So you haven’t accepted it yet?”
“What?”
“You are who I’m looking for.”
“Then why did you inquire?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I’m about to dispute until I realize he’s right, that it doesn’t matter. So I ask him, “How are you going to do it?”
He looks around the room, his hands in the pockets of his vest, his eyes conveying an expression of… something. At least it is an expression.
“Does it matter?”
“No.”
“Sure it does!” This surprises me. He’s not smiling, but looks attentive and repeats himself. “Sure it does.”
“Why?”
“Well, hold on. You don’t know me yet. Do you have any, ah… drinks? Anything?”
I smile deeply, but it appears as though he doesn’t notice. “The refrigerator.”
He’s holding two glasses of something. I take one after he hands it to me, and following this the good man sits down across from me. “I know enough about you, I imagine. Anything you want to ask me?”
“You’re my executioner?”
“I guess.” He swirls his glass. He looks around the room. He’s marveling at how tight all the seams are, at how there’s no exit. There’s the door and there’s the window and that’s it. “But that’s a dismal way of looking at it.” Swirls. “I guess it is the only way of looking at it, though.”
“No! There’s another way, right? I mean, there’s got to be an exit somewhere. Otherwise something is, well, no, no, there’s just got to be an exit.” I’m surprisingly calm. “You have the power, right? You’re going to make a choice. You’re going to make a choice to kill me or not to kill me and you have that choice in your mind right now but it hasn’t happened one way or the other yet so until it does you can still change your mind!” I’m not pleading with anyone except myself.
“You don’t believe in free will, do you?”
“No.”
“Will you believe in it at your death?”
“No.”
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