Untitled (Curtains Story)

i woke and walked across the living room to open the curtain and greet the sun.

the curtain was translucent, and I could see the street beyond in hazy forms.

pulling it back, there was another curtain, and it didn't make sense that it would be here, but it was dark red velvet with golden ropes, and the room I was in had become a ballroom, and the year was 1776.

and when I pulled that curtain back, behind it was a dark blue curtain, almost blackout, and it was made from simple but heavy cloth and had no ropes, and the walls were the metal walls of a battleship, and so I pulled that curtain open, and behind it was god.

and I opened god's mouth, and inside was another smaller god, who sat on it's tongue, and it was a tiny frog wearing a golden crown, and it opened it's mouth, and inside was an atom-- but not an atom with it's orbiting electrons in quantum clouds, which I knew to be true, but a small atom, a model made of round metallic spheres, not to scale, but orbiting slow in perfect circles.

and each sphere was made of two halves with a small ridge, the bottom painted red and the top white, and so I reached and took an electron and split it's halves, and inside was a tiny sun, and and as I pinched it at once I was overwhelmed by the urge to look behind me, and I did, and I could see, finally, that I stood inside my apartment spreading a gauzy barrier, and the sun I held, infinitessimally small, shone in the window on me, and I saw myself for a moment, but the self that saw myself was the one inside, not the one outside holding the sun, and for a moment I was confused, until I remembered it all, and I went and made a bowl of cereal to start my day as I always did.

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