Onstage, the actors are motionless. They litter the floor in their desperate ennui. They have no lines, no direction. No audience. They are far past words; way beyond feeling forgotten. Godot has been and gone and they are still there, utterly, utterly pointlessly, utterly meaninglessly, still there.
As for the cubes, they've been destroyed. In the stillness of meaninglessness, aggression became a script, gave them purpose. Still human enough to protect each other, their violence destroyed the cubes, destroyed each and every part of them until nothing was left.
Stillness and boredom become their comfort. It is a fleeting calm.