Hole

There was a hole in the ground into which, given the natural curiosity normal to his kind, he looked. What did he see and why should it interest us? Well, it would be ridiculous having come this far- not that that's particularly far- and to go no further, would be one response, for what kind of writer sabotages the least possibility of narrative flow, and just when it looks like he may be getting somewhere? Though precisely this kind might be a counter-response. But yes, having placed our hero...though there have been nothing at all heroic about him, and after all what opportunities for heroism present themselves to those embedded in the historic period in which we find ourselves now, though then again maybe he was especially heroic. We haven't much to go on, have we? All he's demonstrated about his character so far is something of a curiosity for looking into holes, and even that may have been simply out of boredom or even a kind of neurotic imitation of how he felt a normal person would behave- looking into holes and the like. Though I think we're losing the run of ourselves here. God alone knows where such wild psychological conjectures can lead. 

 But anyway, back to the solid ground of this hole. "Having placed our hero..." I was saying. So having placed him at the edge of this hole, what was in it, what did he see? But what didn't he see! Maybe it would be quicker to recount that! But no, that's a ludicrous idea. Of course it wouldn't be quicker. "He didn't see a hardback edition of the Pevear Volokhonsky translation of War and Peace, he didn't see a can of tomatoes, he didn't see..." You get the idea. Perhaps there is a kind of writer who would be purring in ecstacy at the world of possibilities he had opened up for himself with such a gambit but he's not this one. 

But I don't really know what was in this hole, do I? That's what you're thinking. This is all just stalling, waiting in hope for inspiration. Wrong. I do know exactly what was in it. There was nothing in it.