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STF-Ette, issue 1, September 1940

Page 1

ALAS, ALL ILLUSION!
BY Corinne Elsworth

Once, in the dim past, there was a time when my brain was much akin to a series of mirrors that cast and multiplied upon their surfaces, images of only the pleasant illusion i chose to see, hazily surrounded by the vague material world.

The overwhelming power, Science Fiction, had not then entered my ken, you see.

"H.G." had seeped through in dribbles, but was immediately reflected in the mirrors as a bit of flammarion mysticism. 

The glass was there but thickly coated with the quick silver of reflective blindness.

Then one day a sad thing happened indeed, and I was too stunned at first to ferret out the meaning of what should have been obvious.

I found one of my mirrors irreparably ruined.  The glass wavered and vanished, even as I sought the explanation.  

In desperation I sought out the one person that cold possibly give me an explanation of this untoward event.  Michael Ellsworth, Jr.                                                              

"Ah, yes," he commented between contemplative puffs on a cigarette, "you must have read, finally, that copy of 'Astounding! I brought you."

"Oh," I gasped, as the room seemed to whirl about me.  "How long will this disillusionment keep up?"

"Hum," he remarked, frowning at me thru gold-rimmed spectacles, "that depends entirely on your ability to assimilate Reality and Fact."

He caught me as I fell.  A full half dozen mirrors went "pfft" that time.

Later, at home, I pondered the Terrible Truth.

"So," I reasoned, "that is the cause of this particular series of sharp headaches."

I tried reading the mystics again with the calm responsive attitude which had once been mine.  With growing horror I found myself gagging antagonistically at the mention of astral Planes and Bodies wherein no scientific explanation was given or even derided.

This was worse than tragic!  I could neither advance nor retreat with my mind in it's present pin-wheel confusion. 

As the weeks went on, I found my precious mirrors smashing and  disolving, but had come no nearer the solution of my dilemma.

The one I had at first sought out for an explanation I evaded with an unreasoning fear.

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ALAS, ALL ILLUSION! BY Corinne Elsworth Once, in the dim past, there was a time when my brain was much akin to a series of mirrors that cast and multiplied upon their surfaces, images of only the pleasant illusion i chose to see, hazily surrounded by the vague material world. The overwhelming power, Science Fiction, had not then entered my ken, you see. "H.G." had seeped through in dribbles, but was immediately reflected in the mirrors as a bit of flammarion mysticism. The glass was there but thickly coated with the quick silver of reflective blindness. Then one day a sad thing happened indeed, and I was too stunned at first to ferret out the meaning of what should have been obvious. I found one of my mirrors irreparably ruined. The glass wavered and vanished, even as I sought the explanation. In desperation I sought out the one person that cold possibly give me an explanation of this untoward event. Michael Ellsworth, Jr. "Ah, yes," he commented between contemplative puffs on a cigarette, "you must have read, finally, that copy of 'Astounding! I brought you." "Oh," I gasped, as the room seemed to whirl about me. "How long will this disillusionment keep up?" "Hum," he remarked, frowning at me thru gold-rimmed spectacles, "that depends entirely on your ability to assimilate Reality and Fact." He caught me as I fell. A full half dozen mirrors went "pfft" that time. Later, at home, I pondered the Terrible Truth. "So," I reasoned, "that is the cause of this particular series of sharp headaches." I tried reading the mystics again with the calm responsive attitude which had once been mine. With growing horror I found myself gagging antagonistically at the mention of astral Planes and Bodies wherein no scientific explanation was given or even derided. This was worse than tragic! I could neither advance nor retreat with my mind in it's present pin-wheel confusion. As the weeks went on, I found my precious mirrors smashing and disolving, but had come no nearer the solution of my dilemma. The one I had at first sought out for an explanation I evaded with an unreasoning fear.