The Fifth Science

by Exurb1a

“I don't think it's so impossible,” Berkhamsted said. “Spirits, I mean. I happen to think consciousness is a sort of pattern, a collection of relationships. If the brain can do it, why not something else too? Who knows what a spirit is? Perhaps just consciousness transferred onto some other medium.”

I fear that on my last day, on my deathbed, that is when the meaning of things will enter the room and kiss my forehead and whisper into my ear what it was I should have done with my life, and how I should've conducted myself. Hell isn't a fire pit but a museum of regrets.