Outcasts of Gideon

Time Without Time : Part 2

Eyes are necessary for sight, but is that the case here? The thought jumped into her mind. Dawn didn't know the answer. Her last visit to this place seemed so long ago. Was she seeing with her eyes? Was she seeing at all? Could her physical body exist in a place without time? It didn't seem possible. All the same, she saw no way for her to exist without existing. Was she only consciousness here? Was she here at all?

Her eyes scanned down to where her torso would be, should be. There she found nothing. She held her hands out before her face. The same emptiness greeted her. Perhaps she didn't exist here, at least not physically. How could this be true?

But she did exist, at least if Descartes had anything to say about it. She was aware, conscious, frightened, and still searching for something that made sense. Her thoughts continued their rapid, unceasing progression. This was despite the paradox that time did not exist here. How could she be thinking without time? Can time be both absent and endless?

Were these the same thoughts she'd had the first time? That's right, I've been here before.

She let out a breath. It was without sound, though she heard it none-the-less. It swept through her and from her, a faint whisper of life tickling her ears. The mere thought of air traveling without traversing time brought her back to wonder. The breath itself seemed to last a lifetime. The more she thought about it, the more impatient she became for its finality. How could she possibly exhale for so long? What were her lungs to do?

She wondered what life would be like without the most basic functions of the body. The beating of the heart. Expansion of the lungs. Yet here there could be no oxygen, no means of sustaining her. This did not keep her from hearing her own breath or feeling the beat of her heart. Nor did it keep these regular events from being both brief and endless. Surely she needed more than one heartbeat per lifetime to sustain her.

Fear discovered her. She became singularly conscious of this as a final visit, an eternal one. She thought again about the stories of those who never came back. They were permanent residents of the empty. She wondered if they had discovered what she had, a place without place, a time both endless and absent.

There are moments of contemplation for any person. These can arise under many different circumstances. She found herself awash in these moments. They threw contradictory solutions, overwhelming her capacity to wrangle them. They were like a host of shapeless creatures ebbing and cresting and swirling in her mind.

Then there was silence.

There had always been silence. The thought that she'd heard her breath was little more than a thought, a belief. The subtle thud of her heart was mere fantasy. Even the idea of sound in a soundless place was absurd. Even the thought of absurdity was absurd, for thought inescapably required time.

"Dewey," she heard herself say. The name fell soundless from her nonexistent lips. The thought evaporated into the same gray space from which it came. Only it wasn't just a gray darkness. If I can see gray, then there has to be light.

And she knew, remembered, speculated that Dewey held the key. Maybe not the key, but at least the means of bringing her back. How long would he wait to rescue her this time? It already seemed too long.

What was it Quinton had asked her, would she meet someone? If she did, would she know them? What if she met Kishan's father? How would she know who he was? What if I met Creature? That hadn't occurred to her before. Maybe it had. Maybe that's why she returned. What if I could find Creature, could I save him? Could Dewey?

Of course, Creature was long dead. Even if he was here, no one could bring him back. That would be the same for Kishan's father.

Why is it gray? It seemed that the words were spoken. Within her context, the words shrank and grew over the time that wasn't. Why is it gray? She thought again, challenging the very idea of her surroundings. Why is it gray? The question seemed to ask itself.