Two pieces of paper lie flat in front of me.
Platonis de Republica
The roman numeral “I” sits center on the bottom of the page.
The other reads this:
Paul finds the old man standing on the edge of a cliff. He stands silently next to him. A cool night breeze blows past them as they stare at the bright city below. Paul shivers and stuffs his hands deep into his pockets.
“We exist on a plane within a plane within a plane within a plane, my boy. There is no left or right way, but many,” Peter turns to Paul and smiles. He holds out a spiked paper polyhedron. “Things are not pulled up or down, but in all directions. There’s no beginning or end. It’s just not that simple. There is always gonna be this moving energy, hiding, building…and you ain’t, they ain’t ever gonna catch it. A fool would believe otherwise. Do you get me, boy? Are we on the same wavelength?”
Peter moves closer to the edge. If the wind were any stronger it would knock his fragile body into the valley below, carelessly.
Paul takes in a deep breath and takes the polyhedron from Peter. With a violent swing, Peter spreads his arms far apart. His entire body convulses with laughter and he jumps, flying like a bird.
Paul turns to look at the city again. And as the lights go out, one by one by one, he too smiles. His is ready.
I take the papers, and with scissors, cut 90 squares:
With much love,