“And then what happened?”
“Well, nothing really, that was the last thing.”
“Nothing? Really? Are you sure? I mean, this is happening,” she waved her hands about indicating us, the room, the world.
“Things exist, things continue.”
“But nothing happens?” she still could not agree.
“Nothing to write home about.”
“So things need to reach a level of interest or entertainment to be happening?”
He felt she needed convincing, ”So, what’s going on in your life?”
“Not a thing,” the way she answered suggested she considered herself a failure.
“And if you did write home what would you say to the dear folks?” he said driving home his point.
“Nothing!” she gave in completely. “Nothing is going on.” She paused and thought a full minute. He knew the process and waited patiently. Her eyes lit, she understood, “And nothing is going to happen.”
He nodded. She looked disappointed. He understood her disappointment. He had seen it before. “It’s okay,” he assured her.
“For nothing to happen?” her eyes were wide open and she looked a little mad, in every sense of the word mad.
“Things aren’t that bad,” he said with confidence.
She thought for another full minute, “No, not that bad,” she stressed the word bad.
“You’ll see, after all, nothing is going to happen,” he saw understanding creep over her pretty face.
She walked out into the street. She didn’t get hit by a car. No one screamed and set themselves on fire. The world didn’t stop spinning – nothing happened.