Found this unfinished story (if one can call it that, assuming the asinine rants of an idle mind can still be worthy of such a label as a “story”) buried deep in the vestiges of my notebook, under an ordinary heading “Manuscript”.

“Substantially all ideas are second-hand, consciously and unconsciously drawn from a million outside sources.” – Mark Twain

At the speed of light, your memories vaporize into cosmic dust. All your ideas, thoughts, perceptions, projections, emotions, feeling, sentiments – indeed your entire past, present and future, becomes microscopic granules suspended in the vast vacuum overhead. Over a passage of a million years the fine particles of cosmic dust accumulate to form an interstellar mass of infinite size and shape, morphing from the very first tree you set your eyes on at a tender age of two, with its leaves swaying about in a mild breeze that made you cuddle up in the bosom of your nanny to the cold steel of the stretcher on which you last lay upon, dying, restless, irritated as death approached you in intervals, you faintly remember how everything was blue, a bouquet of geraniums woefully put in a turquoise ceramic vase on a table which, if you recall correctly, was made by a certain Blue Brother Woodworks because in this small a town everything wooden was made in their factory and you knew this for a fact for you were their accountant for some five years or so until they replaced you with Lapis Lazuli, the Spaniard famous  for his debauchery and genius in mathematical calculations for he could tell you, at a moments notice, the distance between Neptune and Rigel the star, and the number of revolutions Mercury took as a fraction of your heart beat per minute and the distance your blood traveled around your body as a percentage of the distance between the Milky Way and Andromeda; but that all these numbers that Lapis so faithfully projected and assured you of were a fraud for when he told you that you were to live to a ripe age of hundred and sixty, and having taken this to heart and drawn the rest of your life according to the time that presented itself to you, it came as quite a shock to you when you discovered, or were rather told, that you had two months to live for the disease had spread and immediately you thought of all the things you wanted to accomplish but had put off for example to save enough money to buy a telescope which costs as much as a house, you had formulated a plan in your head “if I start saving this this much every day for the next twelve years I will be able to invest in a car after which saving this and this amount for a brief period of two months, and selling the car for twice the profit, assuming the value of the car hasn’t depreciated which I can only ensure if I rarely drive it, and make sure to drive it only on the good roads which means driving it inside the town only as all roads leading away from the town are in awful condition, I could easily burst a tire which might have to be replaced, or worse, a rock or stone could break the mirrors because those bastard Wilente kids are always wreaking havoc in the street, playing with that which they shouldn’t be and how many times have I told their mother to buy them toys but she’d rather have them playing with pebbles, and stones and even when they cracked their own windows did they not heed so I’m assuming I’m better off securing the car in the garage and only taking it out at night when the risk is minimal and that way I’ll be able to sell it off perhaps at an auction and securing a profitable payment to which I’ll add my savings and buy a small shop at the end of the road and…” Your memory from here on is hazy and in all this time, your interstellar dust has traveled an immeasurable distance –


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