The Emptiness -a third note- . Your hand slides along the wall, a searching movement in the black. The light switch must be here, right? It always was. Or was it somewhere else? The wall feels cold and smooth, almost impersonal, as if it were not really a wall but an idea of a wall—something that should be there, but is simultaneously being questioned. Your fingers keep searching, groping, scraping, but the light stays off. It is only later, when you are gasping for breath in a silence you do not understand, that you realize that something is wrong. The door, where is the door anyway? You turn, or at least you think you are turning, because the space around you offers no clues. No sound, no contours, no hints of where anything begins or ends. It is as if you are lost in a void of your own making, a black hole in which all certainty disappears.