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NB: This is the final part of our series, "A Philosophy Carol." You can find the first three parts here , here, and here.
The bright light of the library to which you’ve returned dims. You turn to look back at the Spirit and his creepy kids, but they are all gone. It’s just you in a dark, dark room, and you’re trying not to freak out.
“I could just come behind you, say ‘boo,’ and you would probably scream.” The words, spoken in a casual monotone, seem to have no source. You nearly make yourself dizzy trying to find their source.
“I am here. Right in front of you.” You still can’t see anything until a spotlight shines from–the ceiling of your living room(?) and a glittery haze heralds the coming of a vaguely familiar but also unsettling form in a silver sequined dress. Landing softly on the floor in shiny flats, the Spirit stares at you, a quizzical smile on her glossed lips.
You blink multiple times. This is the Future one, right? You’re a bit confused, but when were you not, tonight? Let’s be honest here.
“I could run you through the whole thing. I could show you the hopes and fears of all the years and all that, but do you really want to be traumatized?” She watches you with her piercing gaze and you shake your head quickly. It’s really hard to speak.
She snaps her fingers and you’re suddenly seated in a chair outside a café. She smiles at the server in a winsome way, ushering him over. He returns the smile dreamily.
“You know what I usually get. Order something strong for this one.” The server nods and hurries off. The Spirit turns her gaze back to you, watching you eyes that sparkle with perception.
“So here’s the thing, kid. You have seen it all. It’s all laid out before you. At the end of everything, all you have is a conversation, one on one.” She steeples her well-manicured fingers. The server returns with two enormous coffee cups, steaming but empty.
You stare into your cup, bemused. She raises a brow expectantly. You shrug to yourself and lift the cup to your lips.
Your brain is suddenly full of possibilities. You see everything, for the briefest few seconds. Change, stagnation, children, governments collapsing and rising from the ashes of despair, the whole world focused into one sip of invisible coffee.
It’s definitely some kind of trip, you think to yourself. The Spirit smiles. The cafe comes out of focus and once more you are left in darkness. Your knees give out as you’ve lost your chair, but you right yourself.
The pale hand of the Spirit beckons you. You watch the spotlight follow her sparkly dress, and you follow her. In the spotlight’s view, you see a tall object covered by a dusty white sheet. She beckons you closer.
Pulling the sheet from the object in a quick yet casual gesture, the Spirit steps aside. You stare at the thing before you. It is you. Blinking several times, you move your hands and feet to see if it’s real. You appear to be reflected in a mirror.
“It’s you, totally,” the Spirit intones. “It was always you. It’s not some old guys in a rusty university. It’s you. Philosophy is you.”
You try to consider this, but there is no time. The world is spinning. Past, present, and future all descend on you as one. You’re suddenly claustrophobic and considering a panic attack as a response. The world swirls around you and then…nothing.
When you wake up on the couch, the streaming service has ceased playing your show. It asks if you are still watching, expectant and automated. You rub your bleary eyes and look at your phone. It’s mid-morning. Did you dream it all?
Beside you is a hefty, leather-bound book. You open it. The title page is blank. You thumb through it, quicker and quicker. There is nothing in this book.
But you know what to do. You didn’t have to be told. You look for a pen in the junk drawer of your desk and you start to write. Perhaps you, too, have woken from your dogmatic slumber.
