Rows of buildings. Enfilades of structures. Cohorts of high-rises. No cottages.
In two rows — here on the right. There as well, on the right.
On the left? Where is that?
"There is no such knowledge." — whispered one of the Thoughts.
"Then maybe upward?" — the other suggested far more briskly. — "That's definitely upward, right? Where is it?"
"Where there is movement…" — the first decided, and began gliding along an absolutely deserted street. It had the right to be called that, since it possessed all the characteristic attributes, such as: benches, lawns, playgrounds, billboards.
Only no one was visible. They had not existed in principle.
The illusion of existence was supported only by occasionally burning streetlamps on bent, crooked poles. From time to time they blinked, sometimes releasing a portion of gnats that gnawed their way into the dimming light. No such light existed in any of the broken windows of the houses. Even in those places where the glass still retained at least some ordered shape and refused to pass into the category of shards.
The second of the Thoughts, who hurried after the first, could not observe anything, since it had no eyes. However, it sensed that life/non-life had abandoned this corner of space.
Wherever the two of them tried to penetrate — they would not be let in.
Through rotating, chaotic silhouettes of God-knows-what, leaves passed straight through, driven by the last janitor left here — the wind. Small debris, occasionally rising heavy objects like beams or laptops — cut through the Thoughts with the same lightning-like flashes and went on in an unknown direction.
They felt nothing.
Their calm was interrupted only by an obsessive need to enter at least one of the empty premises. Into one of those, the second Thought tried to intrude, having its own permission, and struck against the rigid iron frame of the door. Another attempt produced the same result.
"Why doesn't it work? Is persistence not encouraged?"
"A Thought has no Thoughts," — the First replied sadly. — "No throughput."
This happened with many other objects as well. Where a familiar "up" should have been — perhaps there was a sky. It was absent, due to a total, stretched darkness, and it was not disturbed by rays.
Why is it like this?
"Why is it like this?" — the First sighed mournfully.
"Should we try to sense the sky where the bottom is supposed to be?"
The rational proposal produced no visible result, since the shining firmament did not appear. Road slush existed. Industrial grime as well. Rain began to drip and immediately stopped, after which it narrowed down to a single point the size of a hyperbola. There it continued to pour, dirtying the boots of those who had them.
These did not. Such materials were absent here.
One of the doors opened for them, yielding to rust on the handle. It fell off, and a new handle grew in its place: delivered from a store that did not exist.
Fluttering inside, they closed the doors with materialized hands, covering one another. Eyes appeared in the flesh as well, along with everything else. A lightbulb above, framed by other small bulbs, formed a grassy wreath.
And showed two.
They acquired mouths and tongues, as well as the ability to communicate via sound signals. The uncertainty of the First Thought made her cover her mouth with her forearm and spin in place, trying to return to her former existence. Incomprehensible, and therefore even less understood.
— I don't feel anything, nor any other emotions. — announced the Second, stroking stiff stubble, — there should also be hair somewhere around here. On the crown.
At the indicated place, completely gray hair indeed manifested, turning yellow. The colors changed. It was not a matter of whim, but of the possibility of inventing tuning.
— It's hard to say why we are here. And why We are We at all. But since we've gained materiality — let's name ourselves.
— I… I? — drew out the one who had previously felt herself to be the First Thought, and stroked an absolutely bald skull. Then ran her palm over her knees, the newly formed chest, wide hips, and the nose, in which she pierced her nostrils with a painted fingernail. It turned out well.
— Let it be so. — the second agreed and touched his hairy arms. — Then I will be You.
I approached You and suggested making a drawing on those very hairy arms using my fingernail. He extended a limb, and the artist carefully trimmed away the excess. It resulted in a good design for the two doors that had appeared.
— Of them, only two are open, right? — asked You.
— That's how it feels? Are You sure?
— The staircase will show us. Let's move. We already have something.
Holding hands, they stepped onto the first stair, and it licked them. The second did the same, nearly pulling a little pump off You's foot. Or maybe it was I? A wave of electricity ran along the handrails, and it became very dark. Sparks annihilated themselves, forgetting who they were.
Here was the floor and the two designated entrances. They were indeed closed. While the rest of the dark stairwell opened and shut doors endlessly. From the apartments came humming and rustling, as well as the swings of a pickaxe. Measured and fractional. The quarry worked here on Tuesdays.