The Old Man sat in the chair.
We could say "his chair", and, if we were to be accurate, he wasn't actually sitting. It was more a laying back in a chair designed for a desk, not to serve as a lounge of sorts. To allow it to move, and grant it a touch more height, He had added omnidirectional wheel-globes to the legs.
The Old Man sat in the chair, being, as he had always been, alone in the company of his old friend and companion, the universe. They had been together since sometime after he was born, and he was born sometime before the emergence of the energy which now seems so abundant that it grants no escape from its incessant motion.
His mind cleared, emptied, allowed him to glance at that which was when he first emerged. Time stepped aside. It had no purpose in his thoughts beyond its role of providing order to events which had emerged en masse and now cried out to end, to change, to take on another direction another mode, another sequence, another... another, when there is no other beyond the infinite others which could have been.
Why is it that he wanted to have regret? What purpose, other than the reminder that there are other realms, other choices, other existences in an existence where there is just one, and that one is alone. What is the purpose of being alone?
The Old Man sat in the chair, his mind drifting until the brief time he will see his children.
Children? Do they exist? Or are they just another imaged thought of an old man alone in a universe which exists only within his thoughts... those thoughts created all, but what created him?
The Old Man sat in the chair which might not exist. What is existence? Do I think? Does that mean I am? Or am I the thought of that which really exists and all this but a "dream sequence" -- the imaginings of a dreamer unseen, unknown, but assumed to exist by those who do not deny its existence?
The Old Man sat in the chair, the music playing "Fountains of Time" and he can hear in it another song ... lyrics like, "The world is wide, I cannot see..." or is it: "The water is wide and I can't cross over..."?
The Old Man sat in the chair too young to be old, but the chronology of his thoughts dictates his age -- even though his is an existence without age.
The Old Man sat in the chair, his thoughts drifting along on their journey through the possible possibilities of his existence, or his being the thoughts of some Old Man sitting in the chair which does not exist... What adventure awaits them? What journey through time and space in an existence where both time and space are merely a means of establishing order within an existence which needs disorder as much as order, joy as much as sadness, love as much as hate, and where all is perfectly imperfect to the point of total perfection.
The Old Man sat in the chair... and the next phase of the adventure began. If he is lucky, maybe he will tell himself about it.
The Old Man sat in the chair... and time moved forward, as he looked back through history -- to see where he should be going.
The Old Man sat in the chair... and nobody cared. But then, there was nobody except those who were part of the dream, the thought experiment, the realm of possible possibilities in which The Old Man sitting in the chair might only be one.
The Old Man sat in the chair... and the day continued...
