The fog is changing. Thicker here and
there, thinner elsewhere. I could swear, for a moment, just now,
that I saw the surface of one of the lights. It shone like fire,
right in my eye, before fading beyond some new thickness of cloud.
Why do I know what fire is?
I've never been able to make one here,
but I know what it is. Bright flickering, hot and orange. Not
really like the hard shine of that light, but I know what it is.
I call them fern-things, because I know
they aren't ferns. But I've never seen a fern. Couldn't tell you
what one looks like, but I know it's not quite the things that are
here.
I know stone, and fog, and moss. But I
don't know where from. I know that if I cut the trees down, they
won't grow back. How do I know that, if I haven't ever done so?
The fruit is good, but sometimes I feel
a wanting for something different. Something specific. Red, wet,
chewy. Meat. What is that? Why do I think, almost, that I can
smell it cooking, sometimes. Is cooking putting meat on fire? It
seems like good meat is hot, and red.
How long have I been here? I don't
remember before, but if I know things that are not here, then there
must have been a before. Mustn't there?
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