Once upon a time. A long time ago. There once was. Many a year ago. 300 years from now. In a galaxy far, far away.
Having exhausted all possible beginnings for this story, (that I'm writing against my will. At gunpoint I hope you know) I've decided just to do it in the old-fashioned narrative way. The way where I constantly make fun of things, look pretty clever, then read back a month later and wonder what I was thinking.
This isn't a 30 parter about the fall and rise of a teenage band, it's something with many deep meanings, origins, and advice to help you along with your own life. I've been reluctant to share, and as much as I'd like to tell you why I'm being forced to write it. The expression on erm.. my 'adversary's' face speaks for itself, nevertheless, let's begin. As it's annoying me how each sentence is fitting perfectly as 1 line in this notepad document.
This particular story, is set on a farm. And let me tell you, farms back then weren't like they are today, that's for certain. Back then, under a neon green sky, with Pomegranate mountains in one direction and a forest of cutlery in the other. Was our farmer, the first and only character in this story. Who single handedly managed and grew anything you can conceive of in his farm. It's just occurred to me I probably didn't paint the picture of the region very well, so I'll make it as clear as I can. Start with a blank canvas in your mind, just a normal landscape. Make a neon green sky in your head, got it? I'm talking nuclear green. Right then, mountains on the left, however, keep in mind, they are made of pomegranates. Right, er.. Okay I mean, let's not get confused between right and left.
So anyway, (new paragraph, not sure why) on the left we have the acclaimed cutlery forest, I'm sure you can all work out what that looks like. How you picture this all probably has some reflection of your current psyche, but I wouldn't be able to examine that very well. So then, were you imagining green fields between the pomegranate mountain range and cutlery forest? Wrong. Think Red rocks, not bright red, but red enough to make them red.
Speaking of red, chose your main character's name now (the farmer):
Red Ash Todd I've forgotten the last one (feel free to actually use this one, it might have some comedic value later in the story *spoiler alert* it doesn't)
(Main character) placed his hand on his heart and looked up, a cloud layer parted, and he looked deeply at the kosmos. Lifting up his left arm, he pretended to be parting the clouds himself.'Lonely as I am on this farm' he exclaimed 'I still have my dreams.' The days passed, he worked hard, and lived well.
(Main character) placed his hand on his heart and looked up, a cloud layer parted, and he looked deeply at the kosmos. Lifting up his left arm, he pretended to be parting the clouds himself.'Lonely as I am on this farm' he exclaimed 'I still have my money.' The weeks passed, he worked hard, and lived better.
(Main character) placed his hand on his heart and looked up, a cloud layer parted, and he looked deeply at the kosmos. Lifting up his left arm, he pretended to be parting the clouds himself.'Lonely as I am on this farm' he exclaimed 'I still have my health.' The months passed, he worked hard, and lived nicely.
(Main character) placed his hand on his heart and looked up, a cloud layer parted, and he looked deeply at the kosmos. Lifting up his left arm, he pretended to be parting the clouds himself.'Lonely as I am on this farm' he exclaimed 'I still have it all.' A few year passed, he worked hard, and lived to perfection.
Alas, he looked towards the sky one last time.'Whoever you are, please explain why I still have nothing. I am as lonely as the clouds themselves.'
'Play your lute, my dear boy.' And enjoy nothing, love nothing, and appreciate nothing for what it is.
So _________ played his lute, and enjoyed nothing, and loved nothing, and appreciated nothing for what it was. And the happiness he lacked, no longer remained in tact. Because wondering the halls, ________ felt nothing at all. He played all night and day, and soon began to waste away, it doesn't matter if you fall, when you feel nothing at all. One night, there was a storm, and so _______ collapsed - almost torn. When the world began to dry, he gathered the strength to go outside. Fresh on his brand new lawn, _____ saw a guitar - strangely, made of corn. _______ began to play, and so his troubles seemed to go away. I don't remember the next rhyme, but ________ was running out of time.
The fumes of corn he was inhaling, cursed his insides, all were flailing. 'Excuse me if this a lie, but I really feel quite high.' Reader: 'I know you're quite the poet, but please! You don't need to show.'
A bulk of story I seem to have here, but I wonder if it's too soon to make the end near. All I want is to have the choice, of not reading it in such an upper class voice. This story's getting pretty lame, but I'm just hoping for internet fame.
So ______'s mild daze, turned into something of a craze. 'This guitar may be perfect, down to every last bit. But this corn looks so nice I just want to eat it!' No more wood and wire _______ had to admire, as his stomach churned, he felt like he was on fire.' ______ Stumbled and fell, rolling round in his agony. His being was a wreck, he could hardly see. He placed his hand on his heart, and another in the air. If he lived or he died, he just did not care. 'All or nothing, I really can't tell, which one is heaven, and which one is hell. If I have nothing, I'm finally free, if I have it all I'm what I want to be.'
The clouds once again parted, ______ still wasn't quite dead. The Kosmos re-opened, and his world turned to lead.
Moral of the story: Sometimes a story has no moral, but you can speculate and later make an exam question based on it.