… what he saw made him fall off his stool. He had always suspected the moon, but to learn that Mars was composed of smoked gouda was too much for his old heart to handle. He expired with a short gasp on the asbestos floor. ------------------------------------ She sat motionlessly at her mirror.
She sat motionlessly at her mirror. Always waiting, in constant vigilance. A reflection's existence was a limited one. One room, one view, and in this instance, but one image to reflect. If she'd been ignored too long, she'd show the ugly haggard face, the one that expressed her pique at being neglected. That was the face she showed most often now. In former times, when her services had been required many times a day, it had felt like a constant party, a dizzying array of hairstyles, jewellery and lipstick reflected in glossy auburn, sparkling gold and ruby red. Now she barely received a grudging glance, and if she did, it was to be chastised for the worn grey image she displayed. One day she decided to change things. To regain the friendship she felt that they'd once had. And instead of the haggard face, she showed the former one. The one with long flowing hair, bright eyes and smooth skin. But instead of smiling and admiring herself, the woman screamed, and smashed her into a dozen pieces. ... Lots of little sheep
Lots of little sheep stormed the castle. The peasants were driven back, right against the walls. Great was that massacre. Shouting insults and hurling slop, the nobles cursed these wooly midgets from their ramparts. It was then that the ram arrived. At a great gallop it cleared a moat and slammed head first into the titanium portcullis, rending it from the very stone. The way was clear. Peasant corpses now were a bridge. The little sheep, too many to count, enacted the final slaughter. Blood flowed thickly, muddied the ground. The nobles slumbered then in death's embrace. ... 《From the pleasures and sorrows of work》 Initiating developments of which we are still the heirs
Initiating developments of which we are still the heirs, modern society strives to establish individuality in a world defined by the remnants of past innovation. Raise high the mournful strain,
Raise high the mournful strain, for today will be the day that tomorrow never seize. "Ma-Khrut would often say that our thoughts, once they are mixed with the breath of the Gods, become creatures."
"Ma-Khrut would often say that our thoughts, once they are mixed with the breath of the Gods, become creatures." said Ma-Khlum to the creature sticking out of his nose. "But he never said what to do if you sneeze mid thought!" (Next prompt) But when the doom was pronounced, suddenly Nellas wept.
