Infinite Boredom

Scribbled down in an academic briefing this January in my Orientation booklet, before everything else happened:

Two figures walked in the plain of Infinite Boredom.
After a while one of them said:
"Are we there yet?"
"There's nowhere to go."
"Then where are we going?"
"Nowhere."

They walked for another ten miles before he continued.
"Shall we talk?"
"Look. We're talking, aren't we?"
"I mean, talk about something."

Two miles of dust passed beneath their steps.
"There's nothing to talk about."

Three miles.
"I need rest."
"No."
"What?"
"You can't rest. In fact you can't do anything."
"What can you do when you can't rest?"

Four miles, and twenty since the last sand dune.
"Nothing."
...
"We're walking, aren't we?"
"No, we're not."
"Look, this is killing me."

A weak gale blew past after three days.
"You're already dead."
"Then this is Hell."
"Correct!"

Long long pause.
"When will this end?"
"Till Kingdom Come."
"And when's that?"

The sun hung still in the sky, a lifeless disc.
"Never."

Life in Hell, or rather, a sub-life on the plain of Infinite Boredom, is like an eternal lecture. You can't do anything, there is nothing to talk about, if at all there is. And you can't rest.

Three years later one of the figures tapped the other on the shoulder.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"Ah."