The Swing of a Pendulum
	The hands of a clock, not moving. Beyond the window, trees blowing in the wind. The drone of a voice, the buzz of a fan. Up and down, back and forth. The patter of rain on the roof, imagined. Wings fluttering, the sound distant. A man enters, scruffy, unshaven. Is he real? He paces the floor, back and forth, up and down. A fly on the curtain. No fly, no curtain. Always the drone, the buzz, but quieter now, other noises in the ears of the listener. A constant distraction. Heads turn, seeking the source of the sound. A lawn-mower, an aeroplane, traffic, everything mundane. Where is this? Windscreen wipers of a car, back and forth. Who is the man? Gymnasts on a trampoline, up and down.
	The drone, the buzz, disappeared, ignored. What are we seeking? The fly is back now. It lands on the man's forehead. He stops pacing. The world in chaos, screaming, fighting. The fly gone, the pacing continues, back and forth. The chaos leaves, distant screams echo on. A pendulum swings, the clock starts to tick. The man disappears as the drone returns. Everything is mundane in a mundane world. The swing of a pendulum. Back and forth. What has been avoided? What has been missed? The safety of boredom beckons. A moment of hesitation, indecision. In the end, the choice is easy.