The Journey

I like short stories, but I’m not sure you do. If you’re not sure either, you should commit to the following words and life might never be the same again.

“Everything is a journey,” I said.
She looked at me and frowned.
“It really isn’t.”
In the very next instant, she dropped her cigarette and it fell under the couch. She gasped.
“Thrown out of your ordinary world,” I announced.
She looked around but couldn’t see it anywhere. This was a burning cigarette and the place is a rental. The landlady is a bitch. She pushed the table away and went down on her knees to look under the couch, and sneezed when dust tickled her nose. Low visibility.
“The stakes are high. The hero lost her pretentious self and devoted her energy to the cause.”
She finally saw it, still burning. She picked it up quickly, and blew away the dust. It finally went out and as she re-lit it, the cigarette was now held with three fingers, not two.
“The lesson is learned, the reward is obtained. You are master of both worlds, above and below the couch.” I concluded my argument.
She said nothing and continued smoking.