The Most Boring Story Imaginable

Rolling over, reaching aimlessly for the end to the blaring alarm. Scan, click, and shut. Shut, as do the eyes. Fading gradually back into a dream-like state, where the mind rolls back into submission by the wandering subconscious. In silent placidity, the eyes concealed beneath the lids move from corner to corner rapidly, and breathing becomes somewhat irregular. Not even a slight movement of the hair, or a single eyelash fallen. It is quiet. Though, the mind speaks volumes.


Entering into this dream-like state, he sits. Waiting in a single chair, not accompanied by a set at a table, no particular place or positioning meant for this chair, it's just there. Where exactly is there? Inside is mind? Everywhere and nowhere. Just a chair, where he sits, waiting patiently. He has no recollection of any plans, any notices, no constituted plan or meet up. He sits out of choice and waits earnestly. He knows not what he waits for, but he can't help but to listen to the voice tell him to keep waiting. That it's the right thing to do. An intrinsic motivation, an instinct. As he waits, he assesses his comfortability in the chair, measuring the satsifaction it brings to his posture and lower half. He examines the chair in which he sits. Wooden, polished and neatly crafted. It stands on four mahogany legs, accompanied by a subtle indented mold base indicating where to be sat in and placed either to improve comfortability or warrant style. The back is an arc-shaped piece, finished finely by what possibly appears to be a spokeshave, the finishes on the wood are too intricate for it to be something else. Carefully absorbing the chair, he now creates a sense of familiarity with his position. Sitting in this chair, waiting in nothingness, for what could be nothingness. He ponders if he is in limbo. Though, he is completely unaware of his dream-like state. He questions how long he has been sitting in this chair, and why the chair is where it is. Why he is where he is. Where-ever that may be. In his state of inquisition, he decides to stand. Removing himself from the one thing he let himself become familiar with, the only thing he could become familiar with, this vast nothing. As he stands, the chair shrivels into wood shavings. In utter dismay, he kneels down and touches the pieces, shocked at the sight. He doesn't understand why this has happened. Yet, he finds solace in the fact that he doesn't know what the meaning of the chair was to begin with, or why he was sitting in it. He stands again, and turns around, and there she is...she smiles.

And he wakes up.

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