The gun lay hevy in is hand.
He had never held a gun before and dreaded what he was about to do.
He was not afraid of death, nor was he sad or in pain. He was utterly terrified of life.
Ever since the discovery he had not been able to sleep. The discovery shuld have made him happy and full of joy. And it had, to begin with. When reciving the numbers he had jumped with ecstasy, shouting and laughfing. The terror had come laiter at the party.
They had done it! they had proved the universe was not alone, it was part of a bigger, proabably infinete multiverse.
Every single time a wave funtion colapced the universe divided into countless more univerces. Creating an endleless exponentaly growing stack of universe snapshots, where everything that could happen happens. One could prehaps visulize the prosess at the very begining of the universe. At the beginning there was only one the singularity. This universe was all there was. However the planck instance after there were a countless number of diffrent varrioations posible. Every one of these now uniqe universes also had countless posible permutations. And so on. For every instance all possible futures happens, and theese futures happen as well.
If this multiverse was finite, a numbered inifiety ore continus was another issue, but it really did’t matter for now. What was imported was the proof. You see, this proof not only proved the multiverse, but also hell.
The man shakenly took the gun to his head. Despite his drunkeness he knew where to aim. He had spent the night aimlesly driving around the town. His mind was tired and his will was weak. He knew he was doing this partly becouse of his drunkeness, and the impulse would probably pass the next day. But what did it matter, with this discovery this dicition ment nothing, and acounted for nothing.
The fruit of life had been in the fruit of knwlage all along. Eaten long ago, irreverable. He knew he could not do it. He could pull the trigger and feel the gun go of, but he would not die. He had proved it. His soul would continue to walk the earth, improisnd by the universe itself. Every posiblility every instance will happen. The bullet could leve the gun and enter his scull, but it would not kill him. There was alwas a posibility for survival the next instance. In one of the inifinet next instances atleeast an infinet amount of them would have him continuing to feel, to experience to live. Every planck instance the bulet would would sink deeper into his head, some tiny part of the multiverse would have the particles in his brain continue to work.
The liklyhood of experiencing theese odd univerces where his brain would continue to function lying on the floor, but in agonizing pain, were small. Mindbendingly small infact, but the chanses of experiencing the universes in whitch he did not feel anoymore where zero. One cannot feel existance in a universe in witch one does not live. Therefore he was doomed. So was everyone else. Everyone doomed to their tragady of seeing everyone around them die but never beeng able to die themselvs. This was the terror. Infinete and neverending torment. Condemed to only feel the path of survival.
Everyone beeing the last feeling beeing in the universe. The atoms that once had made up the brain spread across a great dark universe, every instance experiencing the incredably unlikly future where brain signals continued to travel between them, and increrdably unlikly and lonly boltzman brain, drifitng among decaying dark holes. This was the only fate for everyone.
The man pulled the trigger and his head exploded. His brain covering the plastic wrap. Blood seeping down the bathroom drain and a single eye staring up at the ceiling from the cold floor. The man was dead.
This is from my perspective, but from the perspective of Prometheus the story was a much longer one.
Written by Gerhard
02/12/2020
