The probability tube
The moment that I write this, I only have a few hours left to live. I know it. At five past three this afternoon I will take the small pistol out of my father's desk and drive a bullet through my head. Why? Never have I pondered suicide, never have I had the feeling that it would be the last resort. But now, everything is different.
I all began when, instead of going straight home last Monday, I decided to make a detour along the small canalized river that seeks it's way through the forest, not far from where I live. It was already quite cold outside, but it was a relieve after the drive from downtown in the overfilled school bus. My breath magically drew little white clouds from the air and the leaves crackled funny beneath my feet.
I had already passed the old wooden bridge when I realized how quiet it had suddenly become around me. The cooing of the over abundant doves and the whistling of the wind through the autumn leaves gave way for an oppressing stillness. The sounds re-appeared but vanished again immediately. Like labor-pains the periods of silence became longer and profound with every cycle until finally the 'spot' was born.
I can't really describe it better then with the word 'spot', because it was exactly what it looked like. To the left of the bridge, just missing the water of the river, it appeared first as a tiny and very bright point of light. The point extended itself into a yellowish spot with a diameter of about one and a half-meter. The spot just lied there as if you could roll it up like a carpet, stick it under your arm and walk home with it. It was the spot that radiated the silence.
My curiosity got the better part of me and I walked towards it. The closer I got, the more details I could discern. When I was about two meters from the spot I could see that it was more like a hazy white tube then a spot. I couldn't define the height of it.
Several heartbeats I didn't dare to step up to the tube, but I ultimately found the courage to do so. When I was so close that my outstretched hand would have passed through the tube, it deformed and showed a relatively dark opening. Then and I still can't believe I did that, I conquered the remaining distance separating me from the tube and entered the strange object. Nothing changed.
Nothing changed is perhaps an exaggeration. But it was not as if I suddenly found myself in a room or in a totally different location. I still saw the forest. The silence still governed de mood and the tube still emitted its soft yellow light around me. What had changed was the forest itself. Although it was still the same forest, but some - perhaps arguably tiny - details were amiss. The yellow-brown leaves were in a tiny more progressed state of decomposition, some trees had nearly unnoticeably changed position and the old bridge across the river had refound a bit of its former splendor.
I turned around to exit the tube again, but the opening had closed behind me. I tried to step through the tube but encountered a small resistance. At the same time I noticed that the tube had shifted in the direction I had tried to leave. Somewhat in panic I tried to leave the tube in other directions, but the effect was always the same. The tube would block my exit and follow me instead.
Without really knowing why, I started to walk home after having tried this to no avail for about ten minutes. Although I must have been a very strange appearance, nobody on the crowded streets took notice of me, they even didn't see me. At first I tried to avoid bumping into people, but after I found out quite quickly that this was not needed. Everybody just passed through me as if I was but air. I didn't exist for them. I didn't exist in this world. Finally I had reached my home and I stepped through the wall of the living room. I froze.
I couldn't believe my own eyes. Less then a meter from me, I saw myself. I saw myself, looking expressionless in front of me, walk to my father's desk and take out the small pistol out of the top drawer. Then I witnessed my own fate. I saw my second self load the pistol, and saw how he finally put the pistol to his head. The he pulled the trigger. I couldn't hear the shot, but this made it even worse. Blood blew out of the enormous wound and flew through me and painted the wall behind me. Suddenly I found myself back in the forest, outside the tube.
The switch had been so sudden that it took me several minutes to regain my orientation. Slowly I returned to what seemed reality to me. The forest had returned to its former state, but the silence and the tube where still present. Franticly I looked around, but I couldn't see any living creature. Again the tube drew my attention. He stood there, ominously, inviting me back in. And again, without relay knowing why, I stepped up to it and entered.
Everything was the same as the first time and yet again a bit different. The trees in the forest had shifted a bit more and the bridge's shine had gone up a few points. The river had broadened a fraction and the leaves had decomposed a trifle further. I also noticed some changes as I crossed the village compared to the first time I had passed here inside the tube.
This time, as I stepped through the wall of my home, I had braced myself for seeing myself and was I able to observe the scene more clearly. That's why I noticed that it was three in the afternoon, that my father's notebook was lying open on the desk and that his pipe was still smoldering in the ashtray. Again I saw myself take out the pistol out of the drawer and commit suicide. Again blood surged through me and again I suddenly found myself back to where I started, the silenced forest together with the pale shining tube.
Over and over again I re-entered the tube and obsessed by this strange reality; I witnessed the same proceedings. Every time the details changed. It must have been at least thirty times that I scrutinized every nuance of my untimely dead before I had learned everything I could. Finally I overcame the urge to re-enter the tube and left it behind.
It's now 2 PM and I'm sitting downstairs in the sofa. I'm staring expressionlessly in front of me. I've come to the conclusion that what I saw will happen. Every single variation that I have seen has resulted in the same inevitable outcome: my suicide. Every time that I have entered the tube, I've been shown a different universe where the probabilities are a bit different then in our own. Every time it contained a variant on my own life and on my own suicide.
It's now half past two in the afternoon of the day I'm going to commit suicide. I try to leave the living room. I try to escape my destiny, but my legs force me to stay. I come to the painful conclusion that I will have to stay here. I will be here when the clock strikes three and I'm unable to escape.
It's three o'clock. The time has come. My legs and my arms force me up and push me into the direction of the desk. My arm extends itself, opens the top drawer and takes out the pistol. With all my might I try to stop my hand as it wraps itself around the pistol, but I have no power over it. I feel like a puppet as my index finger curls around the trigger.
It's five past three. I pull the trigger. The bullet races with all its destructive force through my head. Blood is splattered all over the room.
It's five past three. I pull the trigger. The bullet races with all it's destructive force just passed my head and breaks the north side window.
It's six past three. I live, but have died an infinite number of times. Here in my own universe, I live. Until here as well, the probabilities will turn against me.
I all began when, instead of going straight home last Monday, I decided to make a detour along the small canalized river that seeks it's way through the forest, not far from where I live. It was already quite cold outside, but it was a relieve after the drive from downtown in the overfilled school bus. My breath magically drew little white clouds from the air and the leaves crackled funny beneath my feet.
I had already passed the old wooden bridge when I realized how quiet it had suddenly become around me. The cooing of the over abundant doves and the whistling of the wind through the autumn leaves gave way for an oppressing stillness. The sounds re-appeared but vanished again immediately. Like labor-pains the periods of silence became longer and profound with every cycle until finally the 'spot' was born.
I can't really describe it better then with the word 'spot', because it was exactly what it looked like. To the left of the bridge, just missing the water of the river, it appeared first as a tiny and very bright point of light. The point extended itself into a yellowish spot with a diameter of about one and a half-meter. The spot just lied there as if you could roll it up like a carpet, stick it under your arm and walk home with it. It was the spot that radiated the silence.
My curiosity got the better part of me and I walked towards it. The closer I got, the more details I could discern. When I was about two meters from the spot I could see that it was more like a hazy white tube then a spot. I couldn't define the height of it.
Several heartbeats I didn't dare to step up to the tube, but I ultimately found the courage to do so. When I was so close that my outstretched hand would have passed through the tube, it deformed and showed a relatively dark opening. Then and I still can't believe I did that, I conquered the remaining distance separating me from the tube and entered the strange object. Nothing changed.
Nothing changed is perhaps an exaggeration. But it was not as if I suddenly found myself in a room or in a totally different location. I still saw the forest. The silence still governed de mood and the tube still emitted its soft yellow light around me. What had changed was the forest itself. Although it was still the same forest, but some - perhaps arguably tiny - details were amiss. The yellow-brown leaves were in a tiny more progressed state of decomposition, some trees had nearly unnoticeably changed position and the old bridge across the river had refound a bit of its former splendor.
I turned around to exit the tube again, but the opening had closed behind me. I tried to step through the tube but encountered a small resistance. At the same time I noticed that the tube had shifted in the direction I had tried to leave. Somewhat in panic I tried to leave the tube in other directions, but the effect was always the same. The tube would block my exit and follow me instead.
Without really knowing why, I started to walk home after having tried this to no avail for about ten minutes. Although I must have been a very strange appearance, nobody on the crowded streets took notice of me, they even didn't see me. At first I tried to avoid bumping into people, but after I found out quite quickly that this was not needed. Everybody just passed through me as if I was but air. I didn't exist for them. I didn't exist in this world. Finally I had reached my home and I stepped through the wall of the living room. I froze.
I couldn't believe my own eyes. Less then a meter from me, I saw myself. I saw myself, looking expressionless in front of me, walk to my father's desk and take out the small pistol out of the top drawer. Then I witnessed my own fate. I saw my second self load the pistol, and saw how he finally put the pistol to his head. The he pulled the trigger. I couldn't hear the shot, but this made it even worse. Blood blew out of the enormous wound and flew through me and painted the wall behind me. Suddenly I found myself back in the forest, outside the tube.
The switch had been so sudden that it took me several minutes to regain my orientation. Slowly I returned to what seemed reality to me. The forest had returned to its former state, but the silence and the tube where still present. Franticly I looked around, but I couldn't see any living creature. Again the tube drew my attention. He stood there, ominously, inviting me back in. And again, without relay knowing why, I stepped up to it and entered.
Everything was the same as the first time and yet again a bit different. The trees in the forest had shifted a bit more and the bridge's shine had gone up a few points. The river had broadened a fraction and the leaves had decomposed a trifle further. I also noticed some changes as I crossed the village compared to the first time I had passed here inside the tube.
This time, as I stepped through the wall of my home, I had braced myself for seeing myself and was I able to observe the scene more clearly. That's why I noticed that it was three in the afternoon, that my father's notebook was lying open on the desk and that his pipe was still smoldering in the ashtray. Again I saw myself take out the pistol out of the drawer and commit suicide. Again blood surged through me and again I suddenly found myself back to where I started, the silenced forest together with the pale shining tube.
Over and over again I re-entered the tube and obsessed by this strange reality; I witnessed the same proceedings. Every time the details changed. It must have been at least thirty times that I scrutinized every nuance of my untimely dead before I had learned everything I could. Finally I overcame the urge to re-enter the tube and left it behind.
It's now 2 PM and I'm sitting downstairs in the sofa. I'm staring expressionlessly in front of me. I've come to the conclusion that what I saw will happen. Every single variation that I have seen has resulted in the same inevitable outcome: my suicide. Every time that I have entered the tube, I've been shown a different universe where the probabilities are a bit different then in our own. Every time it contained a variant on my own life and on my own suicide.
It's now half past two in the afternoon of the day I'm going to commit suicide. I try to leave the living room. I try to escape my destiny, but my legs force me to stay. I come to the painful conclusion that I will have to stay here. I will be here when the clock strikes three and I'm unable to escape.
It's three o'clock. The time has come. My legs and my arms force me up and push me into the direction of the desk. My arm extends itself, opens the top drawer and takes out the pistol. With all my might I try to stop my hand as it wraps itself around the pistol, but I have no power over it. I feel like a puppet as my index finger curls around the trigger.
It's five past three. I pull the trigger. The bullet races with all its destructive force through my head. Blood is splattered all over the room.
It's five past three. I pull the trigger. The bullet races with all it's destructive force just passed my head and breaks the north side window.
It's six past three. I live, but have died an infinite number of times. Here in my own universe, I live. Until here as well, the probabilities will turn against me.
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