In the dark, fluid warmth of a mother's womb, two babies float side by side. The first baby turns to the second, voice barely audible above the steady rhythm of their mother's heartbeat.

"Do you believe in life after delivery?" the first baby asks.

The second baby responds without hesitation. "Why, of course. There has to be something after delivery. Maybe we're here to prepare ourselves for what will be later."

The first baby scoffs. "Nonsense. There's no life after delivery. What kind of life would that be?"

"I don't know," the second baby says, voice filled with wonder, "but there'll be more light than here. Maybe we'll walk with our legs and eat with our mouths. Maybe we'll have other senses that we can't understand now."

"That's ridiculous," the first baby retorts. "Walking is impossible, and eating with our mouths is absurd. Science says that the umbilical cord supplies all we need, but it's far too short. Life after delivery is logically excluded."

The second baby pauses, considering. "What if it's just different than it is here? Maybe we don't need that physical cord anymore."

"If there were life after delivery," the first baby challenges, eyes narrowing, "then tell me, why has no one ever come back from there? Delivery is the end of life, and after delivery is nothing but darkness, silence, and oblivion. It takes us nowhere."

"But certainly," the second baby whispers, "we'll meet mother, and she'll take care of us."

The first baby's voice rises. "Mother? You actually believe in mother? If mother exists, where is she now?"

The second baby smiles. "She's all around us. We are of her. It is in her that we live. Without her, this world would not and could not exist."

"I don't see her," the first baby says flatly. "It's only logical that she's not here."

The second baby closes its eyes, listening to the steady heartbeat all around them. "Sometimes when you're in silence and you really listen, you can perceive her presence. You can hear her."

The first baby feels something stir within. A memory older than this current existence, a familiarity with the unknown that lies ahead.

"Perhaps," the second baby whispers, "birth and death are just doorways. We've walked through them countless times before, and will again. Only our forms change. We, our real selves, remain eternal."