In the beginning of the universe, there wasn't all that much to be exited about. No bread nor peanuts as far as the eye could see. Just a tiny, insignificant, ball. You could hold it in your hand, if you wanted. Although as soon as time got a hold of it, you wouldn't really want to.
Soon it would expand, soon it would explode into a universe of matter containing such marvels as peanut sandwiches. But not yet. A tentacle stretched into the ball, an atom moved to the side, by a creature not wholly there. Not many things would change. But some, would.
It was a Tuesday, worst day of the week. Some say Mondays, the fools. That was just the beginning. Rarely some idiot says Friday, the day so close to the end that it's practically a half day. No the three contestants are Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.
And Thursday was just to close to the weekend, so that couldn't be it. Many would lean towards Wednesday, but halfway through Wednesday you are over halfway done. An encouraging thought like that has had no place in the worst day of the week. No it had to be Tuesday. As far gone from the end as you could be, without ending up at the beginning. By far the worst time to be alive.
He thought all these thoughts as he stared into his computer screen. At the moment he wasn't sure what he was doing. That wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for all those other moments, were he also had no idea what he was doing.
He had a job, no one knew precisely what it was, but he had it! Once the man he presumed to be his boss had inquired about it. When he felt that is response had been suitable long and obtuse enough, so that the mans eyes were glazed over enough to remind him of a glacier, he let him go. That had put a stop to that!
Sometimes he was asked at parties, or more honestly, family gatherings, "What is it that you do?". His response of, "I don't," was true but not the sort of answer people who ask that kind of question is looking for. Eventually he had settled for "I'm a writer," which was a lie but always elicited the same response. A sort of manic look of an animal trapped in a cage and a "That's nice," followed by a excuse and a rapid departure, lest he started talking about it.
His work could be done by a one eyed monkey holding a sharpie. But they would never be able to convince the monkey to sit in a chair and stare at a screen for eight hours a day, no matter how many bananas they were willing to offer. So here he was. He often wondered how much stupider than the monkey he was for accepting the deal. Monkeys didn't have money of course, but they never seemed to quiet need it, even for bananas. Which was odd, cause from what he had been taught that was the point of it. Life, the universe, everything for money. Even the monkey would die if someone could make a few bucks of it.
Ugh, Tuesdays. The worst day of the week.
He had not always been this gloom and doom. Happy memories floated to the surface, of relaxing in a comfy couch and reading a good book. Ah, in the ancient time of Saturday. Maybe Sundays were the worst day? They should be precisely as good as Saturday, after all no work. But somehow the dread of another week always leaked into it, and all shores that needed doing after ignoring them all week.
No he had come to a conclusion! Whichever day he was on, that was not a Saturday, was the worst day of the week. Satisfied, he went back to doing the work for which he was paid. Which was to sit in the chair, and stare at the screen. When a tentacle reach through it and grabbing hold of his face.
He barely resisted as it pulled him towards the screen. If tentacles coming out of computer screens were going to kill him, they had chosen the right day. Cause today, was not Saturday.
Closing his eyes, waiting for his head hitting the screen or death, but nothing. After a few seconds he opened them again, and quickly closed them. A view full of tentacles was not the greeting his mind had hoped for.
"You have been brought to this realm, human, cause you are uniquely suitable for one job, one quest of epic proportions." The words he had secretly hoped to hear his whole life. Although the effect was spoiled somewhat by the words not being spoken by a sexy space elf, but rather a thing with more tentacles than his mind knew what to do with. Slowly he opened his eyes, trying to take in just enough of the creature to keep his mind in one piece.
"Ehm.." was the sound he managed to get out. It would probably be immensely dangerous. But what do you say to something like that? 'Sorry, no thanks. Got this slow suicide I'm working on that's showing great promise!' Fuck it. Worst that could happened was that he died a horribly painful death, and at least that wouldn't be boring.
"Sure, okay. I accept. Is there a dragon somewhere, princess?" He was unsure what the proper protocol for quests from tentacle monsters where. Perhaps they just needed someone who could operate tools?
"Haha, you are a funny one. I have changed the very fabric of the universe itself, to be able to bring you before me today." That was certainly an impressive statement.
"What precisely is it that you need from me?"
"There is one task, one quest so grand that no lesser being can compare to you in it's execution." That was nice, but didn't answer his question. Also, grand quest, no lesser being? Him?
"Details please." If he was going to single-handedly take down a spaceship, he at least wanted to demand some weapons who could do it for him.
"There is a uncertainty principle in our universe, similar to yours but at a larger scale. Simply put, if something is not observed enough it ceases to be." Of course, uniquely suited. He should have known. But the whole deadly thing seems to have been avoided.
"Alright, how much observing are we talking here?"
"Eight hours out of every one of your normal human days should be about right. Here, we have a big screen to make it easier for you." Screen, always a screen. It did not show a tropical paradise, nor any kind of paradise he was familiar with. In fact, there was a lot of rather dull grey goo.
His destiny called, at least the screen was large. And presumable a low chance of death, epic quests that killed you had some drawbacks, his rational mind continued on. Trying to smooth out the humps found so far in his epic quest. Looking around a bit another problem struck it. "Do you have a chair to sit on?"
"Chair? Can't say that we have any of those. Mostly just turn into a puddle on the ground if we want to sit." Hyper advanced beings from another dimensions, why a simple chair is just outside their powers apparently. His brain started to remember that it was a Tuesday, otherworldly dimension with tentacle monster or not, nothing good ever happened on a Tuesday.
His last job had been only been important in that it padded the employment statistic. Here at least, the epic quest had its advantage... right? With a shaky voice, filled with Tuesday dread, he asked.
"But it is immensely important, right?"
"Of course!" Thank god for that at least, for a moment there he- "That's our lunch you're looking at!"