#section 22

[Table of Contents]

My failure with my Grandson did not encourage me to try sharing my secret with anyone else in my household, but it didn’t drive me to complete despair either.

I had learned that I couldn’t rely entirely on the catch-phrase “Upward, not Northward”, but instead I needed to create a demonstration that would allow the public a clear view on the whole thing, and writing seemed the best way to accomplish this goal.

So I spent several months writing a textbook on the mysteries of the Third Dimension. But, in an attempt to avoid the Law if it was possible, I didn’t talk about the Third Dimension as a literal physical Dimension, but a sort of Thoughtland, where, in theory, a Figure could look down at Flatland and see the insides of all things, and where, in theory, a Figure with six Squares and eight terminal Points could be found.

But while I was writing this book, I found myself constantly restrained by the impossibility of drawing the kinds of diagrams that were needed to explain the concepts. Because, of course, in our country of Flatland, there are no books except Lines, and no diagrams except Lines, all in one straight Line, and only able to be told apart by difference of size and brightness.

By the time I’d finished my textbook, which I had titled, “Through Flatland to Thoughtland”, I wasn’t certain that anyone would be able to understand it.

In the meanwhile, I was living my life under a cloud. Everything that used to make me happy made me miserable; and everything I saw tempted me to speak out with treason, because I couldn’t help but compare everything I saw in Two Dimensions with what it really was when seen in Three, and I could barely stop myself from making these comparisons out loud.

I neglected my clients and my own business as a lawyer to spend my time in contemplation of the mysteries I had once beheld, that I couldn’t share with anyone, and I found myself losing grasp of the memories as the days progressed, finding it more and more difficult to clearly remember them even in my mind’s eye.

One day, about eleven months after my trip to Spaceland, I tried to imagine a Cube, and failed. But even though I succeeded afterward, I wasn’t certain, (and I haven’t been, ever since) that I had imagined it correctly, in line with reality.

This made me more depressed than I had been before, and made me determined to take some sort of action, but what kind, I didn’t know.

I thought that I would even be willing to sacrifice my life for the Cause, if I could at least convince anyone. But if I couldn’t even convince my Grandson, how could I convince the highest, most evolved Circles in the land?

But despite this, sometimes my passion was too strong for me, and in my venting I let slip dangerous words.

I was already considered to be dangerously close to scorning tradition, if not outright treasonous, and I was acutely aware of the danger I was in.

But I still couldn’t entirely stop myself from bursting out with suspicious and half-blasphemous phrases and comments, even when I was with the highest of Polygonal and Circular society.

For example, when the question was raised about the treatment of the lunatics who’d said they had been given the power to see inside things, I responded with a quote from an ancient Circle, who had declared that ‘prophets and inspired people are always considered by the majority to be mad’, and I couldn’t help but use expressions like, ‘the eye that sees the inside of things’, and ‘the all-seeing land’.

Once or twice I even let slip the forbidden terms ‘the Third and Fourth Dimensions’.

As the final nail in the coffin of a series of minor slip ups, at a meeting of our Local Speculative Society held at the palace of the Prefect himself, some extremely silly person read an elaborate paper claiming to know the exact reasons why Providence had limited the number of Dimensions to Two, and why the trait of Omnividence was given to that Supreme Being alone…

And I forgot myself completely, and told the entire exact story of my whole voyage with the Sphere into Space, then to the Assembly Hall in Metropolis, then to Space again, and how I returned home, and everything I’d seen or heard during the incident, in both reality and dream-vision.

At first I tried to pretend that I was describing the imaginary experiences of a fictional character, but my excitement quickly forced me to throw off any attempt at disguise, and finally, in a fevered pitch, I ended with a grand speech attempting to convince all of my listeners to rid themselves of their prejudices, and to become believers of the Third Dimension.

Do I have to tell you that I was immediately arrested and brought before the Council?

The next morning I was standing in the same place where just months ago, the Sphere had stood himself.

I was allowed to begin and continue my story without any questions or interruptions.

But I already knew my fate, because the President had noticed that a guard of higher-level Isosceles, with angles of almost at, or a little below 55 degrees were originally assigned to the room, and he made sure to dismiss them before I was allowed to speak, replacing them with a much more disposable class of Isosceles, whose angles were only 2 or 3 degrees.

I knew what that meant. I was going to either be executed or imprisoned, and my story was going to be kept secret from the world by killing everyone in the room except for the President, and there was no point wasting such expensive, high-degree Isosceles when when there were cheaper options available.

After I finished my story, the President, maybe seeing that some of the younger Circles had become sympathetic to me because of my apparent sincerity, asked me two questions:

1. Could I explain or show what direction I meant when I used the words” Upward, not Northward”?

2. Could I show or describe to them the Figure I was calling a Cube, without repeating the same list of imaginary sides and angles over again?

I declared that I couldn’t provide any more evidence, and that I would just have to stick to the Truth, which would be sure to prevail in the end.

The President replied that he agreed with my assessment that I couldn't offer any proof beyond my word.

He sentenced me to lifetime imprisonment, and said that if Truth intended to free me from my cell to preach my gospel to the world, then I should trust Truth to bring that about.

In the meantime, I wouldn’t be forced to suffer any discomfort that wasn’t necessary for keeping me locked up, unless I gave up that privilege through misbehavior. And if I behaved well, I might be allowed to visit my brother, who’d gone to prison before me every now and then.

Seven years have passed, and I am still a prisoner.

Except for the occasional visits from my brother, I have no company except for my jailers.

My brother is one of the best Squares. He is just, sensible, cheerful, and even feels some brotherly affection for me, but I have to confess that my weekly visits with him, in one sense, cause me the bitterest pain.

He was there when the Sphere manifested himself in the Council Chamber. He saw the Sphere’s changing sections, and he heard the explanation of this given to the Circles.

Since that time, barely a week has ever gone by in these long seven whole years when I haven’t reminded him of the part I played in that manifestation, and given him detailed descriptions of everything I saw and felt in Spaceland, and repeated endlessly the arguments for the existence of Solids through the progression of Analogy.

But, and I hate to say it, my brother still hasn’t understood anything I tell him, and flat out refuses to ever believe in the existence of a Sphere.

So you see, I have no students of my own, and, as far as I can see, the Millennial Revelation was given to me all for nothing.

Prometheus up in Spaceland was chained and punished for bringing down fire for mortals, but I, poor Flatland Prometheus, sit here in prison for bringing down Nothing for my countrymen.

But I continue on in the hope that this autobiography might, in some way I don’t know how, find its way into the minds of humanity in Some Dimension, and might stir up a group of rebels who will refuse to be chained by limited Dimensionality.

That is what I hope for in my lightest moments.

But alas, I cannot always be so optimistic. A heavy burden weighs on my mind – I can no longer honestly say that I am certain of the exact shape of that once-seen, often-longed for Cube, and in my nightly dreams, the mysterious chant of “Upward, not Northward” haunts me like a soul-devouring Sphinx.

It is part of the punishment I endure for the cause of the Truth that I experience seasons of mental weakness, when Cubes and Spheres fly away into a realm of impossible things, when the Land of Three Dimensions seems almost as impossible as the Land of One or None. Even the hard wall that keeps me from my freedom, and these very tablets I am writing on, and all the other physical realities of Flatland itself, seem like nothing more than the ravings of a diseased mind, or the baseless fabric of a dream.

Oh. Um. That’s certainly an interesting and unique weapon Shirou is using.

Really, it’s not one I’d forget. Specifically because it was what Angra Mainyu was using.

And yeah, Shirou has a lot of different projections, him being able to project it isn’t that big of a deal. But the fact that this weapon specifically is what he chose to use here. It’s probably got some kind of meaning.

Is that Angra Mainyu in the background?