Room 101

Apparently I hadn’t posted this at some earlier time, so here goes: I wrote this up after a discussion about what my “Room 101” (1984, anyone?) would be.

You step through the door and out of the universe. At first it’s beautiful: you find the Milky Way, or at least some spiral galaxy, and watch it spin majestically, endless points of light dancing through space. As time goes on, stars flare and die. Dust coalesces, compacts, ignites, and new stars are born. The lifecycle of the universe continues.

The universe keeps expanding, though. Spreading more and more, dragging things apart. Entropy, despite the best efforts of the occasional interstellar empire to reverse it, marches on. And slowly, slowly, the dust becomes too spread out. Stars die, but no more are born. The light begins to fade. Points of light go out.

Entropy carries the universe to its cold death.

All motion comes to a halt. Nothing changes ever again. Everything is blank, void, precisely the same.

And you watch.