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The Relativity Prison by Igor Teper I sit at my computer, stone-still, statue-still. As the keyboard slides around under my hands, keys jump up and bang at my outstretched fingers, and characters appear on the screen. The screen shifts back and forth so that my unmoving eyes scan over it. The words on the screen may reflect my thoughts, but, since I am aware of no causal link between the two, perhaps it is my thoughts that reflect, and anticipate, the typed words. If that is a paradox, it is a minor one, given all else that has happened. # I was walking home from the observatory one evening about five months ago when whatever this is struck. One instant, I was moving my feet, pushing off the sidewalk with each step, and the next, I was frozen, and the pavement was drifting beneath the soles of my shoes, rhythmically knocking against them hard enough to bounce them up into the air, like some kind of a possessed treadmill. As the ground rolled by, bouncing me along, I struggled to break the paralysis that gripped me, and tried, desperately, to form in my mind a framework in which this would make sense. # Before any of this happened, I had, on several occasions, awakened from a dream to find myself unable to move, or speak, for what seemed like tens of seconds. I was told that this is a generally harmless condition that occurs when the mechanism
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