Feeble flying leads to fickle frays into the foraying of the life that needs to drink the boot on a hemlock of mildew.
There was always a way around and there was always an alternative, but our protagonist could not see the way forward without trying to decipher the riddle that had so plainly lay itself in front of them.
Indeed, it was a conundrum that needed to be solved in order to get around all that was and all that will be, but despite there being a way around, the protagonist could not see it, for they were blinded by fatigue and indifference.
Still, there must’ve been a solution to this riddle that they could have found themselves.
The stretched away from the torches that lit the way in front of them and reached into the darkness that the light did not reach, looking for something that would allow some sort of way forward.
After much searching with their hand, they finally felt an object that fit well in their palm.
It was spherical and smooth. Not hard, but certainly had a solidarity to its body.
Pulling the object from the confines of the darkness, the protagonist found themselves holding a cricket ball, but without the stitching.
Back into the darkness it went, and with that the darkness was swept away faster than could be comprehended and the area was illuminated.
Surrounding the protagonist was nothingness as they hurtled toward some destination that was unknown and unknowable, yet there was no feel of force or resistance against the fall, letting it continue unabated.
The protagonist was not too sure as to what they should make of this situation as it was one quite curious to them, being something that they do not usually experience.
However, it was one that needed to end as quickly as possible, lest the danger of the unknown come and grasp them within it’s incomprehensible hands, squeezing all forms of life out of our protagonist of this story.
There seemed to be no such solution other than to solve the riddle. However, the solution was not apparent, as it was nonsense masquerading as something far more intelligent than it would ever hope to be, and this was something that our protagonist was not able to understand.
Try as they might, the solution was not found and all hope seemed lost.
All of a sudden, the author in question got tired of the bit they were writing and decided to remove our protagonist from the situation and put them somewhere a bit more comfortable. Probably in a house somewhere, with a nice view of the ocean whilst being far from a cliff edge.
It was much safer that way.
Our protagonist, relieved that their situation had changed, decided to make themselves a cup of tea, get a good book and sit outside on their front veranda in order to enjoy some quality reading time, content that the book they were reading was of a high quality.
The time it took to write five-hundred words: 07:26:41
Whilst writing this I hit a wall so I decided to abandon it at the end and put in a happy ending for no reason.
Written at work.