Recursions

A response to the Sunday Photo Fiction challenge for September 8, 2019— two hundred words inspired by this image–

l.l.jones-selfie_49
Photo courtesy of LL Jones

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“Amanda…”

“Just a little further, Peter.”

“Amanda, no!  The displacement operator device can take only so many recursions.”

“And we’re already past your theoretical limit.”

“I’m serious, stop!  We don’t know what the consequences will be….”

“I’m head of the project,” Amanda said.  She didn’t the take her eyes off the growing chain of glowing reproductions of her own face.  “I will take responsibility.”

Peter turned from her to the pale-faced assistant standing by.  “Evacuate the building.  Get everybody out.”  The assistant ran from the lab.

“If you’re afraid, Peter,” Amanda said, “then you leave, too.”

Peter shook his head.  “We started this together.  I’m sticking with you.”

Amanda hardly heard him.  She still watched the ever-growing recursions.  They kept expanding out and out, deeper and deeper, unhindered, unstoppable.

“I can see it!” Amanda cried.  “I can see it!  Oh, my God!”

“It can’t be!” Peter shouted over the wind that suddenly filled the room.  Behind the wind came light—white light, purer than any light humans had ever seen.

When the light faded, the other scientists cautiously re-entered the lab.  They found nothing but the displacement device, lying on the floor, and a faint, lingering scent of roses.

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