"How do you think the moons got up there?" Vincent asked me. His tone suggested that he genuinely did not know, and was hoping I could clear up the matter for him.
"No one really knows," I sighed in response, "but considering they get significantly closer every day, the answer shouldn't be too far off."
Vincent chuckled, but not with amusement, I detected fear in his wavering voice.
"Tell me the theories then? Oh pray tell me!" he said as he hopped down from the telescope.
"Pray tell me?" I laughed in confusion.
"I read it in a Mark Twain book."
"Ah, I see you've discovered ole Sam Clemens. I was hoping you'd eventually pull your nose out of those wretched Upton Sinclair books."
Vincent laughed, but glanced nervously out the window. "Are you going to tell me the theories?"
"Of course! But where to start?" I stroked my chin in a contemplative fashion, and reveled in the idea that I even resembled my old friend Twain. I had grown out my mustache in an attempt to resemble the man, but I think the similarity exists only in my head.
"Indeed. I suppose I could start with the Century Egg Theory." I returned to my chair, lit my pipe and began to regale Vincent with the oldest theory I know. "The Century Egg Theory is a seemingly simple matter, but as one begins to look deeper into the concept the true madness is slowly unraveled. I shall give you the most concise account I can muster.
"The origin of the theory is unknown, but my colleagues and I estimate the idea is several hundreds of thousands of years old. The concept is as follows: as long as moons seem to undergo what we consider to be cycles, the curvature of the shadows etched on their hides speaks the language of deadly spacial screams. Fuck you, and I hate you. I will not tell you this theory after all."
"No one really knows," I sighed in response, "but considering they get significantly closer every day, the answer shouldn't be too far off."
Vincent chuckled, but not with amusement, I detected fear in his wavering voice.
"Tell me the theories then? Oh pray tell me!" he said as he hopped down from the telescope.
"Pray tell me?" I laughed in confusion.
"I read it in a Mark Twain book."
"Ah, I see you've discovered ole Sam Clemens. I was hoping you'd eventually pull your nose out of those wretched Upton Sinclair books."
Vincent laughed, but glanced nervously out the window. "Are you going to tell me the theories?"
"Of course! But where to start?" I stroked my chin in a contemplative fashion, and reveled in the idea that I even resembled my old friend Twain. I had grown out my mustache in an attempt to resemble the man, but I think the similarity exists only in my head.
"Indeed. I suppose I could start with the Century Egg Theory." I returned to my chair, lit my pipe and began to regale Vincent with the oldest theory I know. "The Century Egg Theory is a seemingly simple matter, but as one begins to look deeper into the concept the true madness is slowly unraveled. I shall give you the most concise account I can muster.
"The origin of the theory is unknown, but my colleagues and I estimate the idea is several hundreds of thousands of years old. The concept is as follows: as long as moons seem to undergo what we consider to be cycles, the curvature of the shadows etched on their hides speaks the language of deadly spacial screams. Fuck you, and I hate you. I will not tell you this theory after all."
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