text: Alfred was alone. This was nothing new to him, but he did feel more alone than usual. He called out into the endless white plain for what must have been the eighth time, “Hello? Anyone know how I can get out of here?” No response came. Alfred scratched his head while he stared straight ahead with a look of deep contemplation. He felt absolutely perplexed, which was his least favorite way to feel due to his deeply held self-esteem issues. The cogs in his brain had been turning ceaselessly since his arrival into the empty realm of white, and his legs were exhausted from near constant wandering, and a sever lack of chairs. “I don't suppose there is a complaint department nearby,” he said sarcastically as he massaged his aching thighs. He'd tried to take a rest now and again by simply sitting on the pure white floor, but he found that his butt would become uncomfortable after a short while as the floor was rather hard, and no amount of awkward shifting could fix his discomfort. He'd been standing nonstop for three days now; but there was no way of which he could have realized this because, unbeknownst to Alfred, he has wound himself up in limbo. It was five days ago in earthen time that Alfred had met his end. He was in the midst of his morning ritual which consisted of waking, showering, dressing, and turning on the television, all while munching on two pieces of toast. The pieces of toast, I should add, were completely void of any condiments; no butter, no jam, no peanut butter and honey, just plain old boring toast. His fixation with this substandard form of toast eating remains a mystery to all, including himself. Once Alfred had reached the dressing phase of his bizarre ritual he had but one slice of toast left. He had usually attempted the long game (i.e. taking only small nibbles so that he'd have one-and-a-half pieces of toast left instead of just one by the time he reached the television), but he was feeling somewhat adventurous that morning. He'd been taking substantially larger bites than usual, and felt a sort of sinking feeling when he'd realized that all he had left was the company of a single piece of toast, and he had yet to even put on his trousers. He wanted to savor the piece as much as possible so that he would have something to eat whilst watching the morning news. Alfred pulled out his clothes for the day (a white, stained t-shirt and dark blue jeans) and then slipped the corner of the last piece of toast into his mouth, where he left it so that he could salivate over the tempting taste of room temperature toast on his lips. The toast wobbled limply between Alfred's lips as he hobbled to get his legs through their designated slots in the blue jeans. He began to feel the corner piece split off from the larger portion of the toast, and with a gasp of alarm, he sucked the now separated corner piece down into the depths of his windpipe in his rush to save the falling remainder of toast. After two minutes of struggling for air on his bedroom floor he passed on, leaving behind his corpse with his pants half down, no shirt on (revealing his somewhat flabby and pale body), three-quarters of a piece of toast beside him, and a corner piece of toast in his windpipe. The whole thing was rather depressing to witness, but luckily no one was around to see his comical last moments. Alfred was the luckiest of all as he has no idea of how he died, or even that he died at all, so he doesn't have to spend eternity thinking about how dreadful a finale he'd performed. Alfred's body would not be found until ten days later by his landlord who, in his usual state of rage, would come pounding on his door for the months rent, only to not receive any answer. This would lead him to kick the door down (despite having a maser key in his pocket) and find Alfred's dead body after a short search for any hidden cash. The landlord gave a moments pity, then cleaned out Alfred's wallet which sat on his nightstand, and called an ambulance to clean up the mess. The funeral proceedings were attended by the landlord, Alfred's mother in law who had screwed him out of his father's inheritance, and a weeping old man who had molested Alfred during his first semester of community college at the age of twenty-seven; no one was ever told about the incident. Alfred is now left to wander the endless plain of white for all of eternity; never again to be greeted by another. Never again to be embraced. Never again to eat his morning toast. Never again to attempt to find out what love means. Never again to speak with a telemarketer about politics. Never to make love. Never again to hear the morning news casters droll on about the weather or something equally unimportant. Never again to try and spark a relationship with Tina in the cubicle beside his. Never again to hear another voice, but his own. Alfred was alone.