When the Music’s Over, Turn out the Light

When we first found ourselves at the event, we were lying about, and there were faces looking down at us. A little layer, we were crawling. Those who’d invited us to the event taught us to speak. We learned to stand up. Some were better taken care of by their hosts, than others. Some were abused. But the general consensus, when we asked one another what the event was, was something like, “This is a party you’ve been invited to. It began when you woke this morning. It ends late tonight; it ends after a period of grayness, then deepening darkness. Deep in the darkness, this party ends. We find our welcome wearing out. Until then there are many rooms, many things to see and do at the party. Some push close to the buffet; some are pushed away from it. Some create their own buffet…The party wears on. The music changes. Regularly, we lapse into a doze, perhaps on some sofa. Then we wake, though only partly, and wander through the party. We try to discuss its rooms, try to remember its entertainments, the events within the events. Despite rests, we get wearier, as the light grows grayer. The party darkens. Fatigue, and achiness, make it harder to move from one room to the next. We see other weary people at the party vanishing, snuffing out in smoke and ash. ‘Oh there goes Bill.’ …The party wears on, and wears out. Soon the party is over. So it seems to us. To others, it seems that we have vanished–in smoke and ash.”

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