I once explored a dungeon containing a long, empty hall graced with a single fountain of cool, clear water in which lurked a single crystal ooze and some minor scrap of treasure lying at the bottom of the pool. The ooze waited there through the long centuries, patient and alone, knowing that someday, as foretold in the prophecies, some dumbass adventurer would stick his hand in, reaching for the treasure, and the moment of destiny would have finally arrived.
I wonder if the ooze got bored, maybe thought about oozing on to better things, leaving the minor treasure behind. Then, just as it had worked up the courage to finally start that webcomic about the vampire-zombie-videogamers that lived above the anime shop, there would be footsteps in the hallway. The ooze’s not-breath would quicken, and it would lie in motionless anticipation, hoping against hope that today was the day, its private, selfish dreams scattered by the winds of fate. It was, after all, just an ooze.