Explore "Address: Centauri" by Floyd L. Wallace on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The dimensions of the place were fear, panic and loneliness. It was no-time or all-time, the endless instant of survival -- or less. It was light or it wasn't, the illumination of the closed mind, the intellect turned in on itself, perception curled backward while it reached for the outside world. It was a universe which neither existed nor would ever quite vanish.
And there wasn't a sound. To the distorted senses, wavering and uncertain, sounds could be masculine. "Yes? " said Maureen poutingly. "Where are you now? " But she couldn't hear what she said. So she stopped speaking.