Ech

The clock whispered secrets to the cracked ceiling as the candle flickered in defiance. A single sock lay victorious in the corner, having escaped the tyranny of its pair. Outside, the moon sulked behind a cloud, eavesdropping on a conversation between two arguing alley cats, one of whom insisted it had been royalty in a past life.

Beneath the floorboards, a conspiracy of dust bunnies plotted a revolution. The chair groaned under the weight of forgotten promises, while the table hummed a tune only termites could appreciate. A fly, ambitious yet directionless, circled the room with the confidence of a poet lost in metaphor.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked—perhaps at the futility of existence or maybe just a suspiciously shaped shadow. A pen rolled off the desk in protest, landing with a dramatic sigh. The ink inside dreamed of writing something profound, but instead, it would likely be used for a grocery list that would be promptly ignored.

The wind knocked at the window, but nobody answered. It sighed and moved along, whispering to the trees, who were too busy shedding their leaves to care. And so, the night carried on, indifferent, absurd, and entirely unsupervised.