Heaven Below a Scorched Plane

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Chapter 11

I saw that man again. The one who opened the door. The maintenance man. I was entering the cafeteria, and he was just about to leave. He waved and walked out. I didn't attempt to follow him.

Other than me, there were two other people, a man and a woman. I picked up from their conversation that they were married, and given their age I'd suppose they were around their mid-twenties when they got stuck here. The woman was doing that silent yelling thing where you whisper really loudly at someone, which completely defeats the point of whispering.

Anyway, I just happened to overhear part of it. After that the man told her to be quieter, then gave me a dirty look and left, followed later by the woman. I felt my cheeks flush red in embarrassment, but it was just a reaction I'd been taught from childhood, and didn't really represent my feelings. Anyway, I wasn't thinking about that, I was thinking about what the woman had said.

She wanted a child.

A child. She wanted to create within herself a new consciousness, a new storage space to process the world. It's kind of amazing, reproduction. We are formed from atoms and molecules into something that can think, that can act. Individually, all the things that form into us couldn't do anything like that, but by this specific method, they can combine into something entirely new. To think such a thing could happen.

But if these parts of us can combine into something like us, doesn't that imply that we are no more than an organic machine? Is it possible that what we perceive as consciousness is merely a chemical process that gives a sense of us-ness, of a higher form of being that is ourselves? Is it possible that we are nothing more than signals firing, giving us a sense that we are in control of our actions when in reality we're basically watching a movie of what our true self, the automaton we're stored in, is doing?

Well I mean, it's pointless thinking about it like that. Nothing about how we live our lives can really be changed by dissecting the exact method by which we experience it.

Now that I think about it though, is it right to bring a new life into this world? If it was wrong of those who started the wars to sentence us to our life here, does it not stand to reason that a parent is at fault for creating a child in such circumstances?

Whatever. I'm tired.

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