Once upon a time, there was a small man who lived a small life, filled with resentment and failure. Each day he woke up, rode the subway to his office, sat unspeaking in front of a computer for eight hours without even pretending to work, went home and went to bed.
He’d always assumed that screwing up your life this badly took effort, a perverse desire to do the wrong thing out of malice or spite, so it was a shock to find you could just sleep-walk into it, that you could fall and land at the bottom of the well just by being your plain and lumpy, unexceptional self.
What happened next? Nothing. That was it. It was a long climb to get out of the well and he didn’t know how, and suspected life out of it would be as dark as the one inside. So there he stayed, and there you'll find him now.
The end.
He’d always assumed that screwing up your life this badly took effort, a perverse desire to do the wrong thing out of malice or spite, so it was a shock to find you could just sleep-walk into it, that you could fall and land at the bottom of the well just by being your plain and lumpy, unexceptional self.
What happened next? Nothing. That was it. It was a long climb to get out of the well and he didn’t know how, and suspected life out of it would be as dark as the one inside. So there he stayed, and there you'll find him now.
The end.
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