This story came to me after a visit to the cemetery near my house. I saw the name \u201cOlander\u201d on a headstone, and I knew that it would show up in a story soon!<\/p>\n
Olander Johnson wanted to make something of himself. But every time he tried,\u00a0 it ended in disappointment. He\u2019d start with a wonderful idea, full of anticipation, excitement, and promise. The light in his eyes would reflect the light coursing through his body at the thought of finally–FINALLY–finding the one; the one ultimate great idea that would launch him into happiness, fulfillment, peace. Everything he\u2019d always wanted from life. The idea would be so profound, so easy, so life-changing that it would just flow from him, guiding him until it came to fruition. No struggle. No work. Just a satisfying challenge that he\u2019d always known would come to him eventually.<\/span><\/p>\n So there he sat at his kitchen table, a basic wood contraption with rickety peg legs that wobbled every time he went to stand up or sit down. His head rested in his hands. His shoulders drooped toward the table as he eyed a tiny crack that had appeared years ago in the table top. His eyes had traversed the crack a hundred times, a thousand, he decided. He could just stay here until his feet grew roots, pushing ever so slowly through the vinyl floor into the plywood and, eventually, into the foundation of his miserable house, the earth below, holding him there for all eternity.<\/span><\/p>\n Poor Olander. He had nothing. Did nothing. Said nothing. Just lived his life day to day, surviving only because his heart continued beating and his lungs continued breathing.<\/span><\/p>\n Someone put him out of his misery!<\/span><\/p>\n Sorry, Olander. That\u2019s not what your life is about. You\u2019re just an old man, destined to die without making any meaningful impact on the world. Nothing exciting or life-changing, or even remotely interesting will happen to you.<\/span><\/p>\n \u201cWell what kind of story is that?\u201d Olander sighs and looks up at a crack on his ceiling.<\/span><\/p>\n What kind of story, indeed. Boring. Monotonous. Tedious.<\/span><\/p>\n Make something happen!<\/span><\/p>\n A cloud, white and puffy, floats by his house.<\/span><\/p>\n Well, that\u2019s nice.<\/span><\/p>\n Only he doesn\u2019t see it on account of his roof. It blocks the view.<\/span><\/p>\n Then I\u2019ll just go outside.<\/span><\/p>\n He couldn\u2019t do that. You see, outside isn\u2019t a very friendly place. It\u2019s—<\/span><\/p>\n Inside isn\u2019t so friendly either.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n He starts to push himself up from the table. The four legs wobble, and then buckle under the weight of his two knobby hands that he\u2019s placed on the table top to help himself up.<\/span><\/p>\n No! Don\u2019t go outside! It\u2019s—<\/span><\/p>\n It\u2019s better than nothing.<\/span><\/p>\n At that moment, the table collapses. Finally, after thirty years, the table has regressed to a pile of firewood. He catches himself on his hands and knees.<\/span><\/p>\n What\u2019d you go and do that for?<\/span><\/p>\n His knees ache from the fall, and the vinyl is cold against his bruised palms.<\/span><\/p>\n Stop it. Just talk to me!<\/span><\/p>\n He shuffles to one side to sit on his bony butt and assess his injuries. But, of course, he\u2019s not seriously hurt. That would be something when his life is nothing. He sighs. Hangs his head.<\/span><\/p>\n Hey, I\u2019m talking\u2019 to you! Why\u2019d you topple my table? I thought nothing was supposed to happen in this dumb life of mine.<\/span><\/p>\n Olander can\u2019t go outside now\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n Oh yes I can. I\u2019m getting up. See? My feet still hold me. I\u2019m not dead yet. I\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n Despite his slow shuffle past the kitchen sink and counter toward the entryway, Olander can\u2019t go outside. He\u2019ll Stop it!<\/span><\/p>\n He\u2019ll eventually get there.<\/span><\/p>\n No, he won\u2019t. Nothing, and I mean nothing—.<\/span><\/p>\n Heart attack! Olander smiles up at the ceiling again and begins to take\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n No. No heart attack. I\u2019m still walking. Past the dishwasher that\u2019s broken for years.<\/span><\/p>\n Suddenly, it starts spilling water from the bottom of the door. The water oozes out in front of him, pooling slowly across the floor. He pauses. The floor will be too slippery now. Falling again could be the end of him. So, he can\u2019t, won\u2019t walk to the entryway now.<\/span><\/p>\n Look! I\u2019m sitting. Here\u2019s a towel from the drawer. See? It soaks up the water.<\/span><\/p>\n The puddle is too big for his measly, fraying towel. It\u2019s drenched within seconds.<\/span><\/p>\n I have a whole drawer of them to dump on the water.<\/span><\/p>\n The pile makes a slopping sound as it falls from the drawer. After a few minutes of vigorous wiping\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n The floor is dry now. I won\u2019t take chances with you. I\u2019ll just scoot across the floor. See? You can\u2019t make anything happen to me now. I\u2019m scooting. Laughing! I haven\u2019t scooted like this since I was a child playing crab. Who ever saw an old man scooting across the floor just to get to the door to show you I WILL go outside. Even though\u2014no, because\u2014you don\u2019t want me to.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Olander makes it to the door. He smiles up at me.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n Who says nothing ever happens\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n He mumbles to himself as he reaches for the doorknob, turns it\u2026<\/span><\/p>\n Wait! Don\u2019t!\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n I\u2019m going. The knob is sturdy. My hand is steady. The door\u2019s unlocked. This house\u2026this house is a prison. I must—<\/span><\/p>\n Olander! No! It\u2019s\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n T<\/p>\n \u00a0h<\/p>\n \u00a0 e\u00a0<\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 E<\/p>\n \u00a0\u00a0 \u00a0 n<\/p>\n \u00a0 \u00a0 \u00a0 d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" This story came to me after a visit to the cemetery near my house. I saw the name \u201cOlander\u201d on a headstone, and I knew that it would show up in a story soon! Olander…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_uag_custom_page_level_css":"","_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[10,5],"tags":[19,58,33],"class_list":["post-293","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-experimental","category-fiction","tag-fiction","tag-flash-fiction","tag-wwol"],"yoast_head":"\nnever<\/strike><\/span> eventually<\/strike><\/span> never<\/strike><\/span> eventually<\/strike><\/span> nev<\/strike><\/span>eventually<\/span><\/span><\/p>\nHis heart<\/strike> My heart beats strong and loud, so loud I can hear it in my ears.<\/span><\/p>\n