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| Part One // Ending One // Ending Two // Ending Three Ending Three This was the last memory I have of the following week, in which I didn't sleep one minute, after which I woke up under a tree far from the city, in a place far more beautiful than any I had ever dreamed of. As much as I dreamed about space, I could have just as easily dreamt of the afterlife. I am pleased to tell you that, though it isn't heaven, it is beautiful, and full of trees. They have all the same trees as Earth, but the communication between mind and material is such that imagining a combination of, say a fig and an almond tree creates a new tree that is both of those combined, and the fruit combines with the nut to create an entirely new food. The fig-almond is my very favorite nourishment in the afterlife. The mind is crazy and doesn't stop, so the forests are full of wonders. I love it here, in fact, though it is lonely, as there is so much to explore. There is a common entrance, however, under a crooked old cypress; I saw my aunt there, so she must have died too. She told me I had been trampled by a garbage truck after blindly running into the street, and it figures, because when I first appeared under the crooked cypress, there was a wide rubber tread mark across the front of my suit. My suit changes a little bit nearly every time I look down at it, but the tread mark is still visible, though it has seems sewn with silver thread, and the suit is very clean but seems to be made entirely of dirt, red clay dirt but so red as to be nearly purple, and potatoes grow from it which I eat, and which I cook over a fire which burns from my knees, in my hands which are large and pot-shaped and with the water that flows from my ears, which is the purest water I have ever tasted. Ending One // Ending Two // Ending Three |