Disclaimer: Characters, situations etc are propery of Charlaine Harris and Alan Ball etc. Definition of HUP courtesy of Wikipedia.

Note: And odd combination of mixed feelings over episode 2.09 and musings on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. My first venture in TB.

The Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

In quantum mechanics, the Heisenberg uncertainty principle states that certain pairs of physical properties, like position and momentum, cannot both be known to arbitrary precision. That is, the more precisely one property is known, the less precisely the other can be known. It is impossible to measure simultaneously both position and velocity of a microscopic particle with any degree of accuracy or certainty. This is not only a statement about the limitations of a researcher's ability to measure particular quantities of a system, following the tenets of logical positivism, it is a statement about the nature of the system itself.

The concrete presses through my shoes like gravity's reversed itself. It's a young theory. It has time to change.

Science is finally figuring me out. I press on the place and it presses back. Equal and opposite actions.

I descend the stairs. I can see light creeping down the walls of the stairwell, photons piling up between the milliseconds, slipping through the gritty cinderblock troughs. Like all things, light moves both ways: through the spaces between actions and through the time between consequences.

I stop on the stairs, one foot frozen above the lowest step, the door to the hallway is before me, a sliver of rising sun is at my back.

I, too, move in the same fashion.

But something is about to change. For centuries, Godric has been my setting, has surrounded me, has been the backdrop for my existence. Father, brother, son. In his veins my blood mixed with infinity. My life exists inside of his life. If I have moved in these many centuries, he has moved with me. The background walks with the subject. There is no net change.

But some sort of friction has come over him, has slowed his mysterious elastic motion.

For centuries we have been deified electrons. On us it has been impossible to pin, at once, time and place. There has always been uncertainty. The world's uncertainty, never ours. To an outsider we might be bodies hurtling at the speed of light appearing distorted, jarring to the senses.

But we are one another's where and when, existing unchanged. We are the miracle of creation. He is the improbable star, the center around which I revolve in defiance of the inevitable progression of the universe towards chaos....

My foot lands on the step, complying with my Maker's orders. He has turned me over to this foreign gravity. It is a clumsy force, lacks the finesse of his pull on my soul. Time and place settle around me, the trappings of life that I thought I'd shed in becoming vampire.

My skin is pale against the ash gray of the cinder block hallway. Different shades of pale occupying adjacent spaces at one time. I have been given a setting.

The sliver of sunlight is a hot knife across my neck. I feel the part of me that is Godric dying second by second. I feel myself carried past him by my own velocity. I am tearing away, broken open. I have been given a setting and now I am becoming a character. Good or evil, it is for the audience to decide.

Over hundreds of years we became like one. The edges of me blur softly into him. How can a blurry edge be so bloody, so ragged? I think I might cut myself on my own edges. I think the best parts of me were him all along....

Bill's human is with him. I have played my hand carefully to arrange a tie to her. And for what purpose? I despise her. She fears for Godric, she mourns the few hours she has spent in his company. The smallness of it is insulting. My blood is at work in her. She is beginning to suspect something like human emotion in me. It's laughable. Her entire race could drown in the depths of my anguish.

Godric dwindles and yet I still feel the force of his command. I walk down the hallway, ordered away, a ghost forbidden the vulgar view of his own funeral.

My body stirs the still air of the hallway. Molecules slide around me, space changing to accommodate my presence, time progressing stubbornly in one direction, disregarding the fact that I am infinite.

So was he.

Change, after so long, in indistinguishable from confusion. My Maker is dead. I am one half of infinite.