I found myself in a vast, vast, windowless, fluorescent-lit wasteland of a warehouse, surrounded by a labyrinth of furniture displays and appliance advertisements. I found myself alone, in a world of chairs, and sofas, and toaster ovens, and stylish curtains, and posters of kittens, and modern art, and mass produced replicas of the same seaside scene with the same meaningless, supposedly inspirational comments below in a calm, slightly disturbing serif font.

The silence was overwhelming. There was the hum of hidden machinery, far away through distant air ducts, pumping air into the warehouse to change the temperature. There was a thin, ambient, repetitive loop of the same 20 tracks of pop musak, pumped into the labyrinth through hidden, unknown speakers, by a hidden, unknown computer. But there was silence still.

There were memory-foam beds, and comfortable armchairs, and soft, cushiony pillows in a sad plethora of pastels and paisleys, but there was no comfort.

There were dining tables and kitchen appliance sets in a range of colour and function, but there was no food.

There were loveseats, but there was no love.


The End

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