Blazing Boredom

The sun, reigning over district 1.3521° N, 103.8198° E, blazes high in the sky, casting a bored yet relentless gaze upon his people below.

They wilt under the scorching heat, but unlike the stuff that actually melts into puddles, these people merely look like they are undergoing a slow liquefaction. It’s a monotonous sight; they lack the fascinating ability to shape-shift, which — in the sun’s opinion — makes his duty rather dull.

Standing by the sun’s side, the wind remains still as a stick. He has known his boss for a long time and has learned to detect the signals of impending storms that brew from sheer boredom. He stays motionless; any inadvertent movement would land him in hot water.

Like anyone battling boredom, the sun whips out his phone and delves into the depths of Instagram, a habit the wind has witnessed far too often. The wind keeps a watchful eye on his boss, making sure not to move a muscle. It’s the calm before the storm, he knows.

“Why is it that district 36.2048° N, 138.2529° E is teeming with such interesting people?” the sun ponders aloud. He beckons the wind over. Reluctantly, the wind complies. “Look at them. They’re donning long trench coats and wrapping scarves around their necks. They’ve all shape-shifted!”

“And then look at these people,” he gestures emphatically towards the denizens of district 1.3521° N, 103.8198° E, “Singlets, shorts, slippers. A repetitive uniform, day in and day out. The same monotonous silhouettes, without fail! Why can’t they assume more intriguing forms?”

The wind responds cautiously, choosing his words carefully to avoid any chance of provoking fiery outrage from his boss.

He simply wants to get home for a Netflix binge. He neither loves nor hates his role as the sun’s sidekick, but it certainly beats being sliced to bits by those rotating blades down below or sucked into the rectangular box to cool down the dreary populace.

The wind tries to guide the sun to look on the bright side. “Think about the colours,” he suggests. “Aren’t the shades our people wear more captivating than their shapes?”

The sun throws him a questioning look.

“Check out 51.5072° N, 0.1276° W on Instagram,” the wind says while typing in the social media handle. “Look at them. Most of the people there are draped in greys and browns. No matter how they shape-shift, they don’t exude the same vibrancy as our people, do they?”

“Mmm, at least Uniqlo updates its colour swatches…” the sun mumbles, finding some solace in the variety of hues his people bring to his world.

As if on cue, the cloud – the moon’s trusty sidekick – appears at this moment to signal a shift change. The wind discreetly exhales a breath of relief. It’s another day successfully spent appeasing the sun’s relentless restlessness.

The wind can’t wait to Netflix and chill.