She was sat by the largest and ordinarily most comforting window across the river contemplating nothing of note. Time passed gently into the past with a subtle air of gentle indifference. There was a tree outside which she did at the very least not particularly mind which offered refuge to numerous local birds of sundry persuasions. Sounds of unclear origin eerily reverberated in unison with the wider indecisiveness the weather had as of late chosen to assume as its attitude of preference. Time passed. She thought to herself something that was then discarded, filed, archived with an illegible remark scribbled on it, lost, retrieved anew, toyed with, briefly considered as nourishing sustenance but then dismissed owing to lack of nutritional value, and then structurally reorganised into an ordered sequence of words that seemed to possess sufficient coherence to be deemed a thought. She thought to herself that perhaps this particular time of day demanded the furnishing of one cup of black tea (steamed) and promised to the thought that while pressing circumstances presently obliged her to revisit it at a more opportune time, she would at the very least send it a post card with a wholesome motif on it or some such other token of appreciation. A very large medium range, twin engine Airbus A321 bearing the Andalusian flag catastrophically crashed into the house next to her. He was on the aeroplane. She decided that all things considered and time doubly so, now would be as good a moment as any and promptly arose to furnish one cup of black tea (steamed). Enthusiasm arose with her but then decided that it wasn't worth the bother and disappeared into whichever place it is that enthusiasm should deem suitable to call its abode. Numerous explosions of increasing acoustic magnitude roared and thundered across the distance and momentarily provided the house with vibrational excitement, although it did not last. She aimlessly loafed through the surprisingly large number of rooms the house was comprised of in an attempt to impose her slowly fading desire to furnish one cup of black tea (steamed) upon her destiny. She momentarily took note of a platypus pelt suspended on the wall. Somewhere between 185 to 236 former passengers imposed spine-chilling noises of terror and torment upon their destiny, although it did not seem to aid them or the Airbus A321 in their sudden loss of altitude predicament. Ambulances and fire engines announced their incipient arrival at some distance. She suddenly realised that she had recently run out of black tea and, as it would appear, anything else that could be considered remotely edible or, for that matter, drinkable and that the council had recently also rendered her house bereft of running water for unspecific reasons. She considered developing a certain degree of consternation but consternation had earlier decided that it wasn't worth the bother and that it ought accompany enthusiasm on its journey into whichever places enthusiasm and consternation could habitually be found accompanying each other in. Another terribly loud explosion launched several objects which should in most circumstances considered to be safe not launched at anything or anyone at the largest and ordinarily most comforting window in the house. She suddenly thought of something so sublimely simple and yet profoundly true that as soon as she had thought of it, the very universe briefly paused and shifted just a bit to the right.
The house was on fire.
