Notes mostly to myselves
Good you're not yet dead
I am a bit chilled and I have all of these pieces in me. The edges are not what they used to be.
--
Looking across the table Morgan focused on the object, "for keeps?" They asked holding the small stone tight.
"Everything is for keeps, Morgan."
Replied the accountant over the thin glasses. "Learning is the only tool you have. You must lose in order to understand. Do you remember when Old Tuck stopped speaking for ten spans? You do?" Morgan nodded "Before that time Old Tuck was a craftsmen. He built with legs of lions and plumbs of light so brilliant that it was said all truths could be seen. The light was so clear that no shadow could be cast."
Morgan thought about this, their digit fingers inspecting the hard edges of the mineral. "Do you mean that I must disappear?"
"Quite the opposite." The accountant confronted Morgan's gaze levelly. "What happened when all of the shadows were castigated? Matter slowly began to disintegrate. There was nothing to perceive and losing petition all forms began merge. Exterior and interior no longer distinct, the boundary between truth and not truth became meaningless."
Morgan, with the customary analytical mind of a child, was nonplused because if he had to both lose something and be distinct that meant he would the very thing he would be losing was himself.
"I am not sure if I understand how to have a edges." The object had become more solid as Morgan focused. It was the size of a mould sponge and it's pulsing sent grey waves through the gathering orb. The mass lumped and static pushed neon impulses into Morgan's grip. Sharp bright bites of light shot between the orb and Morgan. A hand began to form around the orb and Morgan perceived weight and light and felt the cold slap of being as the accountant bade them, "Old Tuck after having been silent for spans spoke of the forms without distinction- the Greys, Morgan, you must not let them be washed to bright."
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