In the house lived a man.  And a chair.

For 24 years Harry sat there in that chair in that house staring at one wall.  It was not a bad wall to stare at or an uncomfortable chair, but it did get a bit tedious.

Why did Harry sit there?  The answer to that question involves a very long and complicated war that you could not possibly understand, so don’t bother asking.  The man himself didn’t quite know the answer and thinking about it made his head hurt.  The Powers That Be, whomever they are, would think about it for him and that was enough to take his mind off the subject.

And so he sat.

Life was not so hard those 24 years in the house with the room and the chair and the wall, but it was hard enough that Harry felt he was contributing.  Contributing to the war.  Contributing to the country.

And so he sat.

Of course, he amused himself in whatever way he could.  Harry would slink into his memory, to summer days that were golden and sticky like syrup but ran through your fingers so much faster.  He would ponder the could-have-been’s and the never-would-be’s.  The what-might-have-been’s-if-not-for-the-war.  He felt nostalgia for the days he knew would come because in some way, they already had.

Such is the life of a man that sits and stares at a wall.  For the war, of course.

Harry sat for 24 years in that house with the room and the chair and the wall waiting for the end of the awful war.  Awfully long war, more like.

Harry waited with such intensity that he forgot the most important thing.  He forgot to turn around.  Behind him stood a door leaving the house with the room and the chair and the wall leading to an outside.

The war had been over for 24 years and Harry forgot to turn around.

But let’s not forget how nice that wall was to stare at.