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A Little Curious by Ray Printer Friendly

That cat thing, it goes both ways.

I open my eyes. I think I open my eyes. There's nothing, no way to tell the difference between having them open and having them closed. Just darkness, just numbness, just silence.

I take a breath, I think, but there's no real way to know that for sure, either.

That guy and his cat, Shrader, Schroder? He put it in a box, right? No way to tell if it was alive or dead, not until someone opened the box and witnessed it.

That cat thing, it goes both ways.

I wonder what his cat's name was. I try to move, but it's no good. Either the box is too small to allow movement, or I just can't move.

No way to know for sure, not until someone opens the box. They'd tell me, if they saw me. "You can't move because you're in a box that restricts movement." Or, "You can't move because your muscles no longer respond to the communication from your brain." Something like that.

Schrodinger, that was the guy's name, the guy with the cat.

Did that really happen? Did he actually have a cat? Or was it just a theory? No way for me to know for sure, not now, not until someone opens my box. I'm trapped in forever with limited knowledge, and nothing can change, not until I'm observed.

Does it matter? If I'm alive or dead? As long as it's just me, there are no consequences, no loss, no tears, no heartbreak. Maybe the people who care about me are sad, but there's no way to know, not if I don't witness them. Maybe they're glad I'm gone.

My mother, my sisters, maybe they'll lose the apartment, without my income to support them. Or maybe they'll get jobs that they enjoy, they'll experience the world with fresh eyes and love it in ways they never would have been able to, if I was around.

That cat thing, it works both ways.

There's a sound from somewhere. It could be anything--the world ending, the ocean washing over the planet, a million pieces of rice thrown at a wedding. There's no way to know for sure, not when I can't observe it.

But if I was a gambling man, I'd say it's dirt on a coffin lid.

I shut my eyes. I think think I shut my eyes.

Posted under Short Stories on 7/12/2015


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