Cryptic monospaced letters and symbols danced on Michael's computer screen. So that was it, then. Finished. 50,000 lines of perfectly commented, standards-compliant C++. And it probably worked, too - at least, as much as anything ever worked when you were dealing with the cold hard logic of computer systems - so he decided to call it a day. He still had to finish writing up the documentation, and 4am was a bit early for going to bed, but he'd earned it.
As usual, Michael made the best attempt he could to get to his bathroom through the mess of packaging, paper and fragile wiring that was his floor. And he probably would have got there, too, if it hadn't been for that taut router cable hiding near the doorway.
First, his left foot tripped over it while trying to move forward, causing him to lean precariously toward a plate of chicken that had gone through several stages of sentience since it was placed there a month ago. Making some vague attempt to regain balance, he navigated his single free foot through the doorway and made some attempt to set it down anywhere solid. But the anywhere solid turned out to be a near-frictionless mouseball, and Michael was set into motion once more.
He went on like this for some time, his desperate sleepy movements forming some kind of beautiful ballet that eventually propelled him straight into the corner of a particularly uncomfortable coffee table. Michael swore a few times, and got up.
Untangling the router cable from his feet - he had still managed to unplug it, somehow - he set off back to his big room of lights and hard drives and wires to return it to its rightful place.
It was then that he noticed the letters next to the telephone.
They were roughly three inches tall, and hovered about two feet off the ground. If he had to say what font they were, Michael would have said some monospaced variation of Times. The sort of thing you'd expect to see Scripture rendered in. But instead of some inane line from the bible telling what thou shalt not, it declared, in it's obvious glowing green letters, the exact words he had uttered a few seconds before:
FUCKING COCKSUCKING PISS.
He reached out and touched them; they were real, solid objects, floating in mid-air. After a few seconds, the letters suddenly dissapeared, leaving no trace of their existence except a few letters in a smaller, more modest font proclaiming "PROGRAM COMPLETE." Then that too winked out of existence, leaving nothing behind but plain air.
The router cable dropped to the ground. Michael had forgotten it now. Michael had forgotten about pretty much everything. Slowly, he went back to his seat, and turned around in a full circle. He got up, walked to the door, and tried to remember the complex movements he had gone through moments before. Lean forward, towards chicken. Left foot down, and quickly forwards. Hop on right foot three times. Lean on foor handle for balance. Pull door backwards, almost fall onto pile of CDs. And so on, right up to coming into contact with that bastard coffee table. David mimicked the pained expression he had taken the last time as best he could, and began to speak.
And next to the telephone, in large, neon letters, words began to flicker into life. Although, this time they were a bit lower down. Michael attributed this to his slightly less pronounced jump over last week's pizza. Also, the text seemed to be glowing a lot brighter, which may have been due to his slightly louder scream as he avoided crashing into the television. Or was it the slightly different way he'd cluched his foot while hopping through the kitchen? He went back down the corridor to try it a few more times. Potential combinations of movements ran through his head, refusing to be silenced until they were all fully tried out.
And ten hours later he went to bed, with an aching back, tortured feet, the beginnings of understanding the fundamental nature of the universe, and a disgusting piece of weeks-old chicken lodged smugly between his toes. Maybe tommorow he'd isolate how to declare variables.I don't NEED a real ending, man! I AM BENDING YOUR PRECONCIEVED NOTIONS OF FICTION. also i am lazy