The fly.

I hate the feeling of dullness. So bad. It kills the life in me. Where is the exit?

Dullness feels like some sticky rubbery matter that sucks you in. You kick and protest at first, but then you just give up. You curl up and die slowly and become a very little, very insignificant part of someone else's life.

That's all you are now. A fly. Inside the amber. On someone's neck. Wake up into your illusion of the world. Go to work. Come home. TV. Go to sleep. Good night.

The fly that cannot fly. That's what dullness is to life.