A story about... Nothing © 2000 Damon Diehl, Marg Frey, Greg Gbur, Bryce Graves-Hurst	MARG	GREG	BRYCE & DAMON
				DAMON & BRYCE
			BRYCE	GREG & DAMON
				DAMON & GREG
			DAMON	GREG & BRYCE
				BRYCE & GREG

... not anywhere.

And having done this, the nothing lapsed into silence again. The nothing became nothing, as if it had never been anything, as if it had ever been nothing. In the moments between the breaking of the white noise and the silence that followed, it was born, it lived, and at last it died. That single cycle, the only unit of time. That single cycle, a pulse, a heartbeat, a breath. But only one.

Nothing broke the cool white silence that was nowhere, and stillborn, nothing died.

     The human resources meeting was at last over, after three agonizingly long hours of nothing, nothing at all being accomplished. Davis stood up with a little groan, his back aching. He would have to find a way of escaping these meetings in the future. Surely there were more meaningful things to be done with his life, or at least more pleasant things.

     Because of his back, he was the second to last person to leave the room, shambling out with more or less the same shuffling gait of his fellow coworkers, who were all thinking exactly the same thoughts as he was. He turned at the door to see that Wilson was still in his seat, eyes closed, head nodded forward as if in prayer. Davis shook his head with a smirk and a snort, and envied Wilson for being the one man with the courage to free himself from the shackles of corporate bureaucracy.

     Little did he know that Wilson had in fact been dead for the past two hours.