Welcome.
I must apologize to you, whoever you are, I am not too good at titles. This story hardly needs a title either, since it will be quick.
I’m not completely sure what brought you here (I don’t care either) but, you are here now, and I believe the proper thing to do is to begin with an introduction, like any civilized conversation between new acquaintances. I don’t often use my name, so you may just refer to me as the narrator. Many people tend to call me by the annoying, nagging voice in the back of their head. You’re different though, I’m sure. You wouldn’t be here otherwise. Then again, maybe you would. I’m not going to tell you what to do with your life.
Now that you know me, allow me to tell you who you are, and why you are here. You are the reader: a being of infinite possibilities, who came here under the pretenses of reading what you were sure would be a good story. However,you could just be some punk who picked up this paper to tear it apart and mock me, the narrator, for telling you a story that you didn’t want to hear.. If that is the case, I hope you are enjoying the choice of picking this story to demean. Am I making it easy for you?
I’m sure you, the reader, are now firmly agitated with me for having spent this much of the story explaining to you things you already know. So how about we jump in, yes?
This is the story of….
well….
It’s a really hard name -it has to be foreign- and I cannot spell it, and you most certainly won’t be able to pronounce it. So how about we call them…..Alex? Yeah, Alex. That’s a nice gender-neutral name, right? Now, I am not here to tell you who Alex is. Alex has their own life and their own choices. I am just here to illustrate to you what a normal day for Alex is. So, go ahead and imagine our main character however you like.
Now, some of you older readers may be confused as to why Alex will be portrayed with non-binary terms and pronouns. Intern, I am confused as to why you would be so fixated on the specifications of a character that you will only know for about 7 pages. The author has decided to give you free reign to imagine your own ideal main character, and I am in no position to go against their wishes. If you are confused, simply replace ‘they’ and ‘their’ with your own preference of male or female pronouns.
Honestly, if Alex were to be specified as one gender or the other, it would in no way change the plot or happenings of the story, and I don’t quite understand why some of you will continue to hark on the fact they remain non-binary. Some people just can’t be pleased, I suppose. I hope you, reader, are not like some of the other readers, who will demean the author and story for this choice of writing style.
Anyways, if we are all done with our complaining, we will continue with our story.
Alex starts their day like everyone else does. Well, maybe not exactly like everyone else. After all, not everyone starts their day out completely the same; some people have breakfast, and some don’t; some take showers, while others spend their day smelling like they just stepped out of the trash receptacle; some wake up with a smile on their face, and some roll over wishing for the day to be over with already. So, like everyone else, Alex has their own routine, by getting up, getting dressed, and heading out to work.
Alex works at a normal office, where they file reports, sign papers, and attend meetings. Now, I personally would have prefered my main character to have some sort of amazing job, like a flight attendant, or a dragon-slayer. However, Alex does what Alex wants, and I do not tell them what to do with their life. They make their own decisions.

Well, sometimes they do. I personally prefer to keep a tight reign over Alex, since there is no telling what they’ll do if given freedom of will. They do have a tendency to ignore me however, something I haven’t quite figured out how to correct. But, I digress.

Alex will sit at their cubicle for several hours, working non-stop until there is no work left. Alex will then take a coffee break for a few minutes, and socialize with some of the other workers. Once finished with socializing, Alex will pack up their stuff, and go home for a nice-....
…..
Ah, like I said. Alex doesn’t always listen to me. Come now, Alex, I said you would go home after work, not to the club across town. They won’t let you in, and it’s getting late. It’ll be time to make dinner soon, and we must keep on schedule.
…
Did you seriously just get in? How on earth did you manage that?
Oh well, no matter. Turn around, Alex, it’s time to go home.
…
Very good.

As I said, Alex will go home, tired from the dull day of work. They will proceed to make a rather simple dinner. While simple, Alex does have a very diverse set of taste buds, and will mix the choices up every night. Tonight was Wednesday, so Alex would enjoy a nice bowl of ramen noodle soup, and a cup of water.
…
Alex, I said water. Put the wine back, we still have quite a lot to do before this story ends, and I will not have you wandering around the house in a drunken state.
…
Are you even listening to me?
Alex…
ALEX!

Oh great, now you’ve dropped the wine. It’s going to leave a nasty stain on the carpet. You see, this is why you don’t have nice things, Alex, because you always mess them up. Don’t you start crying, get to cleaning before the carpet is ruined completely! Go over to the cabinet and get the bleach.
…
Fine, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way!
Alex walked over to the cabinet and grabbed the bleach. Their muscles strained against my orders, but they would follow them anyway. They then walked over to the spilled red liquid, and dumped an acceptable amount of it onto the carpet. Finally, they went back to the cabinet and put the bleach away.

See? Was that really so hard, Alex? You should honestly start listening to me more often.

You readers can now see our relationship quite well. Alex is a very independent soul, one who doesn’t much appreciate taking orders. This makes my job particularly hard. Sometimes I think Alex likes making my life hard.

Alex began pondering. Do they really find enjoyment in my suffering? If so, then why? Why do they like to hear me get flustered? Do they do it just to get a rise out of me? Or is it for some greater purpose?

Alex then thought about what you would particularly call this attitude. Defiance? Individuality? Or was it much simpler than that? Was Alex just trying to live their life without the influence of some outside source they could neither see nor talk to; one you could just obey?

Alex was seriously doing some mind work now. Their brain kept spinning with question after question. Who was this voice? This godly power that seemed to force them to do everything, whether they wanted to or not? Sure, Alex had pondered its existence -my existence- for a very very long time. However, a bright new question evolved from it on this particular day.

Why do they listen to me?

Why do they continue to do my bidding, regardless of how much they wish not to?

Thinking about it more, Alex began to see me as a metaphor. I was personified responsibility in their mind; forever there to steal them away from the things they want most in life. But, why then, did I exist? Why did Alex exist? Could it be that we, narrator and protagonist, are the plot of an infinite universe that needs no exact reason to exist, it just does? Or perhaps we are the star of some famous book, preparing for a quest of epic proportion. Then again, we could just be the written imagination of some heartless author writing a short story for an Advanced English course, that she fully plans on getting published to prove a point about the influence of modern ideas in literature.

All of these thoughts made Alex sad. Inexplicably sad. So sad, they curled up on the couch to just be left alone with their thoughts.

….

Alex, I said on the couch, why are you going to your bedroom? Is this another of your defiant acts? Fine then, lay on the bed, do whatever you want. Go ahead ignoring me, it’s not like I have a job to do or anything.

….

Hey..what are you doing with that…?
….
Alex, think about this for a second!
….

Come on, Alex, please, put the gun down! This is a bit rash don’t you think? Sure the universe is hard to explain, and life is pointless, but that is no reason to put my job on the-
…

…

Great. How absolutely fantastic.

Are you proud of yourself reader? You just had to go and muck this up for me, huh? You do realize this is your fault. Maybe if you had stopped reading then Alex would still be alive, and I would still have a job!

Goodness gracious, now there’s blood all over the carpet…. What are we to do…?

The narrator began to question exactly how they were going to deal with the nasty stain on the carpet. They then looked up, surprised at the sound of a new voice, one they recognized.

“Oh, god, no, not you!” They screamed. “Please, just give me another chance! I know this is my third lost client, but I can do better! I promise! Give me another chance!”

Ah, but the writer had had enough of the narrators slacking. This story had already been revised three times thanks to the mess ups of the narrator, and the writer had vowed it would not happen again. With the click of a delete key the old narrator was gone.

Well, it seems we are in for more introductions.

Hello.

I’m not too good at this sort of thing, so I’ll keep it short. I am the writer. Seeing as we have lost the main character, there isn’t much more to be told in this story. So, allow me to use what’s left of our time to ask you a question. You’ve no doubt been wondering it from the minute you began this tale.

What is the meaning of this story? What is it’s purpose? This question is much like what Alex pondered, and the answer is the same.

Simply put, there is no meaning to this story. It is simply the writings of a normal character on what is the last day of a life, which, like our story, had no meaning.

You’re probably arguing with me, saying that Alex’s life did have meaning.

Well, explain to me then what the meaning of life is? How do we know if our lives mean anything or not? Do we decide it ourselves? Or does some greater power do it?

The truth is, there is no secret meaning behind life. We are born, we live, and we die. Some may accomplish more than others in the space of that time, and you readers perceive that as living a meaningful life. But what does a vague concept such as that even mean?

…

Are you questioning your entire existence now?

Excellent! Then my job is done here!

‘What just happened?’ I’m sure you’re wondering. ‘Was this entire story just a big convoluted scheme to make me question the reason I live?’

If so, then congratulations! You are correct! I’m just going to write you in a beautiful, extravagant party to celebrate, because you, reader, deserve it!

Let’s have a big room, like a ball room perhaps! And we’ll have balloons of all shapes and sizes, floating in the air! There will be every kind of drink and food that you love and crave in heaps all across the room, and everyone you cherish and hold dear to you there to clap and cheer you on! Maybe we’ll even have a nice band playing for you! What’s your favorite band? Hmm? Well, they’re there, center stage, dedicating a new song written just for you! And at the end of the night, you will be awarded a fabulous trophy! Are you wondering what that trophy is?

Well it’s-

Nothing.

Sarcasm is such a lovely tool, isn’t it? You can make people angry at the same time you make others laugh.

Perhaps I have tortured you enough for one day. Maybe you would like an actual story, one that fits certain guidelines and social stereotypes. However, I can’t quite bring myself to write something that generic and boring, just to have a story that fits into someone’s personal, opinionated version of a good short-story.

Maybe I’ll just start it, and leave the rest of the page for you to finish it yourself, or just delve into imagination. Will this please or anger you? Hmm? Maybe a more suitable title for the story would be “Here Lies Creativity; Passed Away In 2015”?

I don’t know why I keep asking you questions, reader, when you are incapable of answering them. Oh, well.

Onto our story.

It was a cold autumn day as Alex pulled into his driveway. Rain tapped the windows of his old Chevy truck, and leaves swirled aggressively in the harsh wind. Somewhere off, he heard thunder rumble, and sighed. A storm was coming.