Query: He is a product of my consciousness; is it possible, then, that entities may be created by consciousness?
We did not quarrel. To this day I do not know how it happened. Let me tell you. Then you will see. We sat up late that never-to-be-forgotten last night of his existence. It was the old, old discussion—the eternity of forms. How many hours and how many nights we had consumed over it!
On this night he had been particularly irritating, and all my nerves were screaming. He had been maintaining that the human soul was itself a form, an eternal form, and that the light within his brain would go on forever and always. I took up the poker.
"Suppose," I said, "I should strike you dead with this?"
"I would go on," he answered.
"As a conscious entity?" I demanded.
"Yes, as a consciou
