Whenever I'm bored, I like to skip stones. I find this a great way to chill and relax. If I can find a really flat pebble and the wind is just right, I can sometimes get ten skips. I can, honest! My miserable neighbours don't like it though. They're always out to spoil my fun. One of them swore from his bedroom window, shook his fist and bellowed I should skip stones on the lake, not down the street. Pfft! I wouldn't have anything to aim at? Neighbours!
I loosened the bottle cap, then flicked it as hard as I could. The cap spun around faster than a fairground waltzer, shot off, and hit me in the eye.
I tried for hours, but couldn't manage it again. I felt such a one-time phoney. Geez was I bored!
It is not that I am disinterested just less interested than if I was. I’m sorry if you find this a flimflam answer, but it is the truth and I am a truthful man, apart from when I’m not. That, however, is at my own discretion. I can assure you, if you are able to pique my interest, it shall remain so right up until the point where it is not. I hope you find this reassuring. If you don’t, please don’t worry as it is said more for my benefit than your own. It is due to the flaws in my character that I must conclude this ramble and no direct fault of your own, as I’m already at the point of suicidal boredom. Yet social etiquette demands I drag out this sermon, and so I do. I would like to blame this on you for an inability to keep me entertained, to focus my will, but I’ve forgotten your name and am therefore ad-libbing until I might address you directly on its reoccurrence. It’s coming… No it’s not. I can’t. It’s gone. I’m off.
The Universe? I was just bored.
“I don’t know!”
“But it was your idea.”
“I stole it.”
“I was bored, alright.”
“Not really. I’m a bit insulted.”
“No need, I easily bore.”
“What are we going to do with it.”
“Just leave it be and let life happen.”
“What shall we call it?”
“Well, you think of something.”
“Come on, I haven’t got all eternity.”
“We’ll call it Earth.”
“That’s a stupid name.”
“It’s an amalgamation.”
“Never mind. It’s a cross between birth and end.”
“Which will win.”
The crow stared at me, I stared at the crow. Beady, ebony eyes took me in, as my own blue did the same. He hopped back and forth, agitated, I swayed unwilling to give in. And right there and then we shared an undeniable truth: we were both so bored.