Inaction

Evening time. A winter's day and the light had long since departed. In a warm indoor glow, he stood and surveyed the bounty in front of him. Truly, it was a wondrous sight. There they sat, almost regimental in their ordering. Here and there, patterns emerged amongst the cornucopia of colours and writings, shapes and images. It was oh-so-familiar and yet, every now and then as he stood in uffish thought, head tilted at the optimum browsing angle, something forgotten would jump out and clamour for his attention.

And what a clamouring it was. So many things to see and hear. Wondrous sights and sounds as yet undiscovered and familiar or comforting scenes to wrap around you like an old blanket. Strange new worlds and old familiar places, all contained there on shelf after shelf after shelf.

He shifted slightly to the other foot and inclined his head at an alternate angle. So many things and yet no one thing was leaping out at him, saying, "I'm the one you've been looking for. It's me, it's me". Occasionally, he trailed a hand along their spines but, as expected, this provoked no reaction.

Time passed and he was no nearer a final destination to his browsing odyssey. He began to grow restless - as time passed while he stood here looking, the amount of time he had left to spend transported to their other places was dwindling. This led to an increased burst of activity; a pacing back and forth with faster glances, trying to catch that elusive something that would complement his mood. Still nothing. Still nothing.

"Oh, sod it," he thought. "I'll just watch The Muppet Movie again."