Quantum Loop Warping
As Pravda followed the dying young woman down the elevator shaft toward an ever increasing blackness, she found herself marveling at the possibility that there might be different kinds of blackness. Maybe there also were different kinds of emptiness and absence. What to make of such notions?
“Oh well,” her mind shrugged at her, “whatever the answer may be, it will soon be over, and your idle ruminations won’t make a difference, so relax, will you, please?” Pravda was about to retort to her own smart-assing mind, “any more relaxed, bub, and I’m dead,” when she became aware of a cool breeze kissing her tear streaked face. Opening her eyes, she found herself gazing up at an arctic sun that was penetrating the haze of what had appeared to be the solid, soot covered walls of an elevator shaft. Her physical presence now light as down as she rose toward the cool sun, swaying to and fro like a feather on a gentle breeze …
But then a scorching pain tore through her very real and substantial body. Opening her eyes to yet another reality, she found herself strapped to the hard board of an operating table. The glare of the lights made her close her eyes again. The leather thongs held her fast and did not allow her to move or budge, but the table shook as her body, racked by the pain, was trembling inwardly under the onslaught of pain she could not release or escape …
“Afraid,” a self-assured voice calmly asked her from beyond the glaring lights. Afraid, her? “You’re fucking hurting me, you schmuck,” Pravda hissed between gritted teeth. “Well, well. Why don’t you say something?” The anesthetist increased the dosage of whatever pain killer they used in the IV, and Pravda felt herself ascending toward heaven in a luxury elevator with mahogany paneling and armatures of brushed steel. As smooth and buffered as she assumed a ride in a Rolls Royce must be …
Coming to later, Pravda found herself staring at a white wall, herself covered in white sheets under a white ceiling, white fluorescents causing her eyes and head to ache with their high speed flickering. “Why,” a stern voice, enriched with moral scorn asked …
Turning her head around, Pravda was staring into the reptilian eyes of a sexless individual in a white frock. “Why,” the reptilian repeated. “Bored,” Pravda groaned and turned toward the wall. “I see,” the reptilian quipped, “so you decided to add a dash of red to life. Is that it?” Pravda did not respond, and the room resonated with disdain as the hard hitting heels left the room, the door being slammed for emphasis …
