Clockwork Cosmos

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"When we talk about reality, what is it we truly mean?"

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"When we talk about reality, what is it we truly mean?"


It was calm.

It was quiet but for the soothing lull of the television set which sat in the middle of the makeshift living room; two walls positioned in the barren emptiness of the desert sand, of which at the centre sat three recliner chairs.

The man on the television held their attention, his calm voice explaining the vast complexities of the universe and our position in its infinite cosmos. 

"The question must be considered as thus: can we ever truly know the shape of reality?"

"Woah...he's totally right," said an awed voice.

Despite the odd location and rather temperamental environment of the false living room, three individuals sat upon the comfortable chairs, watching the small, retro television; eyes sleepy.

"I don't know why you're impressed," said another voice, this one softer. "What he said was so vague I can't even make sense of it."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked the first. His deep brows furrowed and his large frame turned to look to his side.

The owner of the second voice turned to look at the first; curled, blonde hair pressing against the cracked red leather of the chair she rested upon. "Because I'm smarter than you," she said with a smile. "Obviously."

Before the second could argue back, a third voice cut into their conversation. "Okay, who the hell put pineapple on my pizza?" he whined petulantly.

Both of the other individuals turned to look at the third; wild curls fell messily around his unshaven face and from the deep cut of his shirt, his chest was exposed to the looming sun above.

"What's wrong with pineapple?"

"What's not wrong with pineapple, Luther? It's disgusting."

"Klaus, you like anchovies on your pizza. I don't think you've any right to judge," said the girl. "You're disgusting."

"And you're a bore who only likes cheese on their pizza."

"Why mess with perfection?" the girl asked, scandalised. Turning to look down at her lap, she sought support for her cause. "You agree with me don't you, Mr Pennycrumb?"


"See?" she said smugly, offering the precious dog a slice of her cheese pizza. It's not like it could do the canine any harm. Well, any more than their current predicament entailed, that was.

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