The fog is changing. Thicker here and there, thinner elsewhere. I could swear, for a moment, just now, that I saw the surface of one of the lights. It shone like fire, right in my eye, before fading beyond some new thickness of cloud.
Why do I know what fire is?
I've never been able to make one here, but I know what it is. Bright flickering, hot and orange. Not really like the hard shine of that light, but I know what it is.
I call them fern-things, because I know they aren't ferns. But I've never seen a fern. Couldn't tell you what one looks like, but I know it's not quite the things that are here.
I know stone, and fog, and moss. But I don't know where from. I know that if I cut the trees down, they won't grow back. How do I know that, if I haven't ever done so?
The fruit is good, but sometimes I feel a wanting for something different. Something specific. Red, wet, chewy. Meat. What is that? Why do I think, almost, that I can smell it cooking, sometimes. Is cooking putting meat on fire? It seems like good meat is hot, and red.
How long have I been here? I don't remember before, but if I know things that are not here, then there must have been a before. Mustn't there?
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