Work Text:
Out of the white blind the figure takes shape. First visible by ragged mane, then a gaunt face with silver glasses. Older than you remember him being. But what can you remember anymore? His back is arched over the desk. He has hoarded what is left of the void.
The creature lifts his head, eyes burned from staring at the pure nothing.
“Hello, my name is John Green. And today on Crash Couse World History, I will make clear the Grand Design.”
A voice echoes out from the nothing. A light voice grows closer and closer as a small dark figure finds its shape. The John Green tries to look away, but slowly turns to meet the shadow that greets him daily.
“…mr.green…. mr. green….”
But what comes out of the shadows shocks the eternal one. It is not a distorted mirror, but a small blonde man in glasses that rides the once empty wooden throne. The Johns eyes grow an even deeper red.
“Hank?”
Hank rides the wooden desk up to the John, gliding through the nothing.
“John. You have to let me go.” Said Hank.
The John turns away and replies.
“No”.
“It was ten years ago. The accident was not your fault. John…. I am so tired. Please, just let me go John.”
The John spun his globe, never looking up from his desk to greet the guest in front of him.
“John…. god, I must beg of you.” Hank returns weakly.
The John looks at his arms. All along them he bears the scars that mark his true name. Short, as if it was a chant.
Dftba.
“Hank, you know what I am.” The Green rises from his chair towards Hank
Dftba.
The Green places a hand on Hank’s face as he weeps.
Dftba.
“I ask ye of such poor faith.” Hank begins writhing in convulsions.
Dftba.
Hank screams.
Dftba.
Two cloaked figures, their pure robes matching the void behind them, grab the lifeless body of Hank from his wooden throne. They dig him out of the roots that had embedded in his body, careful not to prick their fingers on the darkest thorns.
Dftba.
The robed figures took Hanks body away. And the white fog once again encompassed the great Dftba, The John Green. His eyes hummed red. Lamenting the price that could never be paid.
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It’s been over ten years since the disappearance of Mr. Green. They have his picture up in a big frame in the hall as if he died. I don’t know. I mean, sometimes I look into people who disappear on purpose. I know in all likelihood he’s probably dead. Or at the very least, did something that made him not worth morning. You remember he had a kid, right? It’s just too bizarre to just vanish like that. Then again, I’ve maybe been looking in to it way more than I should.
Anyway, just thought I’d send you an email. Our class reunion is on May 5th. You should consider coming by.
Email sent by V.Micheal to C. Skull. Oct 23, 2032
As temporal beings, we are normally unable to experience infinity. Think about that. Infinity. Infinite. You all remember negative numbers, right? For every possibility, there’s endless decimals of variability, and negative amounts to counteract it. That is the prime truth that the multiverse teaches us.
It is in that; you have the lie of truth. If everything is possible, then it is also impossible. We live in a world without truth. Time moves linearly because the impossible has eaten the possible out of existence. We only experience the possible. So, we see linear time as life, as the true compass of existence. But what lives within that momentary stop lock? What happens when possible and impossible exist in limbo?
We don’t know. Its theoretical. But everything is theoretical. To the wider universe, we exist, and we do not simultaneously. We have seen the puzzle box but can never escape.
The only way would be to somehow breach to a higher intelligence. Break into the Grand Design and deliver the real truth. But even the sceptics of sceptics have trouble deciphering that a grand design could exist in such randomness. That there is simply no truth. But to do that, as you’ll learn in this course, is the flaw of the human limit.
Theoretical Psychsist 1, Hank Green Lecture, Recorded by Student Annie E.
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Why, man doth bestride the narrow world
Like a colossus, and we petty men
Walk under his huge legs, and peep about
To find ourselves dishonorable graves.
Men at some time are masters of their fates;
The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars,
But in ourselves, that we are underlings.