And below, it turned out, was a lake. More precisely, I burst onto its expanse five meters from the far shore of a small island that had casually settled near the beach. I flew, gliding, over a hundred meters. I skimmed across the lake's waves like a skipping stone and lay on its surface when I lost speed. I’d already believed in my omnipotence. And you were sitting on the shore of the island, a hundred and fifty meters from me, laughing. Or were you smirking? I dog-paddled to you. I didn’t know how else to swim back then. I felt pain on the right and bliss on the left.

Pain, bliss, serenity. Right, left, below. What’s the odd one out?

And below was a crystal-clear layer of cold water. The bottom was lined with large quartz sand, mixed with gray granite and turquoise. I fell to the bottom and froze. I waited. I wanted to entertain you one more time. I wanted to see you laugh. Or be tortured? You're just so beautiful. You're a genius. You smile forever.

I came up with it then, at the bottom. Without a single breath of fresh air, without nutrients in my body, without writing paper, without sound recorders, and without pigeons. I came up with it in conditions opposite to those that favor intellectual work.

I'm a monster. I know.

Pain, bliss, serenity. Thinking, convulsions, agony. What’s the odd one out?