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The Circle of Zero
The Circle of Zero
The Circle of Zero
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The Circle of Zero

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If there were a mountain a thousand miles high and every thousand years a bird flew over it, just brushing the peak with the tip of its wing, in the course of inconceivable eons the mountain would be worn away. Yet all those ages would not be one second to the length of eternity.
LanguageEnglish
PublisherJovian Press
Release dateDec 23, 2016
ISBN9781537814179
The Circle of Zero

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    Book preview

    The Circle of Zero - Stanley Weinbaum

    THE CIRCLE OF ZERO

    ..................

    Stanley Weinbaum

    JOVIAN PRESS

    Thank you for reading. If you enjoy this book, please leave a review or connect with the author.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2016 by Stanley Weinbaum

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    1. TRY FOR ETERNITY

    2. MEMORY OF THINGS PAST

    3. NIGHTMARE OR TRUTH?

    4. THE BITTER FRUIT

    1. TRY FOR ETERNITY

    ..................

    IF THERE WERE A MOUNTAIN a thousand miles high and every thousand years a bird flew over it, just brushing the peak with the tip of its wing, in the course of inconceivable eons the mountain would be worn away. Yet all those ages would not be one second to the length of eternity.

    I DON’T know what philosophical mind penned the foregoing, but the words keep recurring to me since last I saw old Aurore de Néant, erstwhile professor of psychology at Tulane. When, back in ‘24, I took that course in Morbid Psychology from him, I think the only reason for taking it at all was that I needed an eleven o’clock on Tuesdays and Thursdays to round out a lazy program.

    I was gay Jack Anders, twenty-two years old, and the reason seemed sufficient. At least, I’m sure that dark and lovely Yvonne de Néant had nothing to do with it. She was but a slim child of sixteen.

    Old de Néant liked me, Lord knows why, for I was a poor enough student. Perhaps it was because I never, to his knowledge, punned on his name. Aurore de Néant translates to Dawn of Nothingness, you see; you can imagine what students

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