User:Pandora/Proof

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{{#ifeq: User |User| Proof | Proof}}[[Title::{{#ifeq: User |User| Proof | Proof}}| ]]
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---

"So when two heat engines each with a--"

"There's no magic anywhere!"

Sandra wrapped her hands over her head and let the frizzy tresses tickle inside her elbow pits. The mousey haired human was having trouble but not with the contents of the physics textbook spread out in front of her, rather with what it implied.

"Why do you say that, Sandra?" a bespectacled young man in entirely too formal clothing spoke over his own pile of physics and lecture notes.

"Everything magic has something to do with turning around this entropy thing," Sandra moaned, pointing down at the book perhaps a bit too dramatically. "And they've been telling us for the last three chapters that reversing entropy is 100% impossible."

"What brought up magic? I thought we were studying Phys--"

"Physics, bah." she closed her thick textbook with a thump, "We've been studying it for hours and where has it got us?"

"We're the only ones in this class whose grades aren't hurting. Besides that weird Eugene character."

"I mean, what's the point? Passing this class won't affect the eventual outcome. Microstates are indeterminate, but the macrostate is easily predictable." She stared across almost accusingly at the unexpressive boy, as if daring him ppto respond.

"Butterfly effect," he said. "A microstate can have a large effect in the future, so even the macrostate is not predictable. Look, let's just try to get these equations down..."

"I'm done, Andrew." Sandra said, pushing the bangs out of her eyes and standing up. "I'm just... done." She walked off then perhaps a bit too quickly.

She made it as far as the outside of the building while Andrew sat watching her leave, before her stomach tightened with hunger. "How long were we..." she mused, checking a slim wristwatch and grimacing. "2 hours, great. It's the dinner hour." Sandra turned around and stalked right back into the building she had left from, because in letters above the window it was clearly marked "Cafeteria"

Ten minutes later Sandra and a tray clattered down across from Andrew, the girl sitting resolutely and chewing on her bread roll in silence. "When a particle accelerator..." Andrew started cautiously. Getting no response, he continued, "When a particle accelerator accelerates protons to near light speeds, then collides them together in massive collisions greater than either particle themselves would possess, I can predict what is going to happen. I can tell you what is going to come out, how it will behave, and what will result. I can understand that process if I study enough. If anything could be called magic, that is what I would call magic."

"Mmph," Sandra agreed reluctantly, trying to understand the strange boy across from her, so certain in his direction. "Still it's so esoteric and ...impractical..."

"You're looking for magic, and you're concerned about practicality?"

Sandra laughed and Andrew turned a page in his physics textbook. "I guess you're right," she said spooning at some watery looking peas. "It's just not doing it for me." Andrew just shrugged and continued to read silently.

---

"And that's why I can't major in Physics anymore Mister Connelly," Sandra concluded to the guidance counselor, she sitting there awkward as always while he relaxed in his recliner hand poised to tap on a computer keyboard. "That was a nice story," he said, "But we're almost out of time here. I'm going to make a recommendation that I think you should seriously consider. Tell me, do you attend church regularly?"

"C-church?" Sandra stammered, "You mean like, Christianity?"

"Oh, you're not a Christian then?"

"No I didn't say... I mean I haven't really done that church thing before."

Mr. Connelly nodded firmly, "This school has had a good Christian foundation for generations. You should try going to the Grace cathedral next Sunday. See if you like it. Philosophy or theology seem a lot different from that hard science you've been chasing, but they're all based on faith really. Give it some thought."

...half a year later...

"Pastor Malcom...?"

"Yes, my child?" the pastor intoned in his deep voice that had that day boomed over the congregation. Sandra didn't exactly feel comfortable just walking up to his pulpit after the sermon, but just had to ask this, just this once.

"I don't think God is talking to me."

The dark man was silent for a few moments and then stepped down, leading Sandra along by the shoulder. "Come, sit down. It sounds like you have a lot to talk about."

"God can cause miracles, can't he?" Sandra asked, sitting down in the forward pews.

"He can," the pastor answered, "That does not mean that he always does. Do you need a miracle in your life?"

"Well I don't need nothing special it's just... everything's so ordinary about God. When everyone is praying it's just a bunch of people with their hands together in an empty room. I thought God was supposed to make his presence known or something."

"You mean to say you haven't felt the presence of God?" Pastor Malcom asked kindly, though his eyes betrayed a glimmer of worry when Sandra turned to look up at him. "No, just the other parishioners. Maybe I'm just too new at this..."

"God does not judge on experience alone. Have you wronged Him in any way, or gone against His teachings?"

Sandra chewed on her lower lip, shaking her head. "Not that I can think of. My life's really boring actually, and there are good reasons to stay away from drinking and partying that people do in those fraternities and sororities. People my age are kind of... drunk on freedom. I'm honestly content with being blessed with a quiet living space though. Just something feels missing from that, which is why I came here. But..."

"I won't judge you either," the pastor said, "Your feelings are always a truer path to God than any man could judge."

"I wonder if when everybody prays," Sandra whispered, surprised at a watering in her eyes, "If they aren't just like me. If they aren't just sitting there wondering if everyone else is getting something. What if they're just pretending that miracles are happening but in reality..."

"...there is no God" the pastor finished for her. "Really??" she squeaked, looking up again with a surprised look on her face that he would say such a thing. "No not really," the pastor laughed, "But that is what you were going to say."

"yeah..." Sandra looked down again, crossing her toes over each other.

"When I pray," Pastor Malcom started quietly, "It can be the most profound experience of my life. That's how I talk to God, receive His Spirit and Love. Sometimes it's just people in a room, but God is in all things, and when God comes to visit there is no denying His Truth. But Sandra, I want to tell you something..."

He shook his head, "God came to visit at least 3 times this past month. We are a pious congregation, and have much to contribute to His plan. You're telling me you haven't felt His presence at all these past Sundays you have come here?"

"Maybe I've sinned in some way..." she said quietly, cowed by the pastor's powerful voice even in its restrained state.

"And you think an angry god would be a less powerful presence than a happy one? Sandra, I want you to know you're always welcome here, but I think your answers lie elsewhere. I don't know why you do not feel God's presence, but it cannot help you to come here every Sunday until you figure that out."

---

"And that's why I cannot major in Theology, MIster Connelly," Sandra snapped rather irritably. A year and a half wasted so far, and her college fund wouldn't hold out for another 4. He didn't seem phased at her irritation though, and pulled up her record on the computer. "Before you go," he said, "It sounds like your problem is not in what you study, but that something is stopping you from enjoying your life as you study. This is off the record, but, you might feel better if you stayed with physics but took some time to enjoy yourself, make some friends, join some clubs..."

"I think we're done here," Sandra sighed, gathering up her bag.

"Hold on let's make you another 15 minute appointment so you can tell me if you found anything," he tapped out some more keys and added, "I'm free about 2 weeks from now, on the 18th.

"Wow," said Sandra, "When the receptionists do it it's a 3 week wait between 15 minute appointments!"

She headed down the long cement walkway past the crowds of other students going to and fro, feeling very alienated at this time. "What am I gonna choose for classes?" she thought to herself, hands in pockets, hunched over at the weight of her backpack full of Thoreau and Kant. "Just general ed stuff? I've got to figure something out." She didn't have any ideas once she got back to the dormitory, flopping down on her bed with a class schedule opened. Her straight haired roommate was off at some Biology lecture right now, later on to pull apart strange ugly amphibians preserved in a poisonous sauce. DEFinitely not the major for her. "Why do you have to pick a major anyway?" Sandra grumbled, knowing full well that nobody ever got a degree in "Nothing special."

She was flipping idly through the pages of classes marked "Sociology" when she paused on the entry after it. "The History of Sorcery... hah. That's almost as silly as that Transcendental Meditation class they're running for three years straight. Couldn't hurt to check out I guess." Then she flipped away from Sociology and started going over the English courses dully, her fate as a nameless woman behind some desk in a corporate bank seeming more and more etched in stone with every passing second.

Two days later Sandra, Accounting Major Extraordinaire went skipping off to her economics classes determined to make a million bucks appear out of numbers alone. Trudging heavily out of said economics classes, she debated the wisdom of putting both of them back to back. "Still... I have most of the math covered with my old major. Guess it's time for the elective then. Gymnastics had always been a favorite of hers, when it involved floor work at least. She was a good build for the bars, but never quite got the hang of them, ha ha. After that Sandra had a lunch hour, but munching on a cheese roll she remembered that that sorcery history class would be about now. "Can't have lunch and attend it at the same time," she mused, putting the roll in a napkin and standing up, "Might as well check it out though. Maybe I can add..."

Not sure what she was expecting, Sandra was nevertheless disappointed when it turned out to be in a fluorescent lit classroom with fake plastic wood desks. Empty ones at that. The only person in the classroom was the teacher packing his stuff into a box, a plain looking man in a shirt and tie with short cropped hair. A history teacher. Of course. Sighing at her own silly hopes, Sandra started to pull her head out of the door and walk away. "Wait--please." the man said, standing up. Caught, Sandra blushed horribly opening the door and walking in trying to pretend that she had meant to all along.

"Are you here for the History of Sorcery?" he asked in a dejected sort of tone. "I was thinking of adding..." Sandra said, "I don't really know what this class is about though. It's not on the major requirements for Theology."

"Quite the opposite in fact," the man exclaimed, lifting a finger. He let his hand drop then, "But I'm afraid you'll have to wait until next semester. Not enough people signed up, so the class is going to close..."

Sandra shook her head looking down, "Sorry about that. I guess since it's not a major requirement, how many students did you get this year?"

"Besides you? And hey, it is a major requirement! You wouldn't know it though, since this school hasn't graduated anyone with that degree in a decade. Things were different at Penn State I can tell you."

"What major?" Sandra asked curiously, "It doesn't appear in the schedule?"

"You ask two questions in a row," he tsked, "People only do that when they're hiding from answer to the first."

"I'm not hiding, I'm just curious!" Sandra said defensively.

"Curious about sorcery?"

Ok that hit close to home. Feeling almost guilty Sandra nodded, "This is just like, a history class about the witch trials or something, right?"

"This class is a dialectic review of the practices of ancient pagan cultures of eastern European--"

"Yeah, thought so," she said walking stiffly out of the room. "Hey wait," the boring looking professor said, taking a step after her. Sandra turned with a dull look in her eyes. "Did you want to talk with a sorcerer?" he asked.

"...they don't exist."

"What? They most certainly do. Where did you hear that?"

Sandra shook her head, "They can't exist, because there's no magic."

"So uh... why are you looking for one?"

Something made Sandra want to bolt at this very second, but the teacher seemed so normal, so mundane she just couldn't see anything dangerous about him. "Okay," she said unhelpfully, "Where can I talk with a sorcerer?"

"Well this isn't the best place for them, if you didn't notice not many people are interested in this subject anymore. Some people have no appreciation for niche culture, I tell you. But there is one I know of, not listed of course."

"Of course?"

"The yellow pages don't allow sorcery in their book, plus it's a good way to get the authorities hot on your tail."

"Authorities--?"

"She doesn't have a business license that's all," the teacher was scribbling on a scrap of paper now, handing it out to her. "Here, call this number and say Barry Flandwater sent you."

"She knows you?"

"Ha ha, well let's just say I'd like her to remember my name once and a while."

Sandra pulled out a little scheduler and wrote his name down in it, along with the number. "...sure, I'll do so." Then she looked at her little watch exclaiming "Oh shoot, lunch is--!" running out of the classroom door this time while tearing the cheese roll out of her napkin to wolf it down.