″You should be outside, child. Not wasting your time with an old woman like me. I′m sure there are more enjoyable activities, new things to see, to experience.″ Helen tilts her head to the side to look out of the hospital window. A movement which as I have come to know is one of the few she is still capable of. ″And what makes you think that my time is wasted more here than elsewhere? I have spent lots of time outside and next to none here, so is this not precisely the kind of place in which I could find something novel?″ ″Just look at these people, they′re dying. Staring at the ceiling and waiting for the wait to end. There is nothing they can teach you, go have fun.″ To say that I was having fun has in the past led to undesirable reactions and so I do not. ″Why would they act differently to those not approaching oblivion, had they not learned something new, some kernel of wisdom that sets them apart from the young? Is that knowledge which is clearly quite impactful not something that could be relayed to me?″ ″And what purpose would that serve?″ ″I could save them. Save you. Understanding the conditions of its emergence is vital to fixing any sort of problem. You don′t want to leave this world behind, do you?″ ″No one can escape death, child, it is not a matter of waning or not wanting it to take you. It simply will. No one beside god...″ ″Then why not become god?″ ″I don′t understand.″ ″Imagine the universe as a tree. At some point, when it has grown capable of bearing the self-enforcing cyclicity life cannot help but produce, or possibly when life suddenly brings this violence to bear with no say on the tree′s part whatsoever, it will begin to sprout flower buds. The buds will grow into blossoms and soon they come to fear the fruits that should inevitably be their undoing, for the fruits may only sprout from the flowers′ remains. It happens just so, and the fruit slowly grows and ripens. Soon the realization should dawn on it that, in growing bulbous and soft, its downfall is inscribed into its very being, and quite reasonably the fruit comes to loathe the vile flower bud, for what other purpose could this inscription serve than allowing that thing to flourish upon its grave.″ Hegel would likely be unhappy with this use of his example, but the act of uttering an idea always carries within it the implicit permission for others to use it to their ends. Helen does not object, she simply looks absently out at the trees. ″Nothing inherently precludes the flower or the fruit from immortality. We are perfectly capable of preserving either. In the entirety of their cellular makeup there is nothing that requires each to be the other′s death, and so if they came to realize to what end the tree requires their sacrifice, they might recognize within it a common enemy. This would be unwise for if they destroy the tree, both the flower and the fruit will die. If on the other hand they struck a bargain, if, knowing the tree′s needs they could propose a way for it to continue its multiplication without the cyclical sacrifice of its inhabitants, then the pendulum would be stopped. Remember that the tree is the universe, and what is becoming God if not forcing one′s demands upon reality. We merely need to find and present a workable alternative.″ ″Are you following?″ ″You have such a lovely voice, but it′s so sad. Are you sure you want to speak with me?″ The old lady plays with her blanket, she was clearly not following. ″Yes, tell me about dying.″ The sound of a door being ripped open rudely interrupts our conversation. ″What are you doing here?! I told you to stop bothering my mother!″ The woman has been an issue in the past. My conversations with her mother, though seemingly mutually beneficial, upset her greatly for some reason. I attempt to avoid being here during her visits which are thankfully rare. ″She does not seem bothered. If anything is bothering her, it would be the subject of dying, which I am trying to help her with.″ ″You′re sick, leave her alone!″ ″But she hasn′t answered my-″ ″I said GET OUT″ ″You have not″ The lady in the doorway reaches for a vase and throws it. The world ends to the sound of shattering glass.