Was she dead? Was this her happy ever after-life, here at Saint Andrews Hospital on this instant in the day that seems to have her whole story in it, from the formation the big bang, dawn chorus sunrise of space-time, born out of an ever present quantum vacuum in the morning to the end of everything in the last cooling breath of an entropic sunset, just before the stars come and go out? Is this her heaven or hell, she wonders, these elysian fields with her whole universe from start to finish somehow crystallised into each day, with every day eternal and with every day the same, reiterated endlessly down to the tiniest and most infinitesimal detail, though somehow she didn't notice the unending repetition, feasibly as a result of her premeditation? Perhaps this is what the afterlife is like for everyone, not just for her. Perhaps for everybody, their whole world and their whole life is one long and unusually eventful day that they will have forgotten by tomorrow morning when they wake as couldn't-care-less babies, to begin the same old timeless and beloved story all over again.
gummygunk
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2087
