[short story] Bricks
"So, let me get this", the booming authoritative voice spoke out: "You had the chance to do whatever you wanted, to create whatever kind of reality and local universe you could, and you...spent it all hydrating horses?"
It hit you like a ton of bricks, but each brick was made out of its own component ton of bricks, each made out of more bricks. There was no more reality. There was only bricks extending endlessly in spiral patterns of fractal beauty. You reached up a hand to gesture at the wild greater unknown, but you realized that it had been done 5 minutes from now.
You knew the truth. Everything was truly an illusion. It was all bricks. It was always bricks. It will always be bricks. It has always been bricks.
re: [short story] Bricks
There was never anything but bricks arranged in such fine arrangements that their interactions created the quantum fields that defined what you ended up interpreting as the grand experiment of reality in your frame of existence. The utter meaninglessness of it all was the most comforting thought that hit you.
You would say everything turned into a brilliant white light, but that wouldn't begin to describe the color, texture, taste, sight, sound, thought, aether, and other senses you couldn't even begin to describe unfold as you started to experience All as it truly is.
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