By some special arrangement, I was allowed an interview with someone from another world.
I sat on the top of a mountain at midnight, and she spoke to me from the sky. I couldn’t see her very well at first.
“What is Truth?” I asked.
“What is a beach ball?” asked Celeste, for that was her name.
“Well, it is a sphere made of rubber or plastic, and we fill it with air and toss it to each other, back and forth.”
“What are rubber and plastic?”
“How can I say? They are substances.”
“Made of matter?” she persisted. “Of course they are made of matter,” I said.
Celeste sighed. “We have only idle stories of a world so small that you can even play with matter,” she said.
It was then that she blinked, and I could just make out the shape of a single eye filling the whole sky. It was behind all the stars, however, and heavily obscured as though it were beneath a great depth of moving water.
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