#that's just paranoia or something completely innocuous that reminds you of someone else that did a Bad Thing To You

[kaikree]

oompa loompa doopity do

[noxsden]

A simple story

It’s been awhile but I finally got something that could be considered complete.  Hope you enjoy

I have always found it best to build a routine, you get settled, you can begin to expect things and understand how it all works, it might become boring at times but at least it can be calculated.  Surprise can still come even if it starts out small, innocuous just something simple like finding a story.  Something innocent and clean, stepping along the same old path day in and day out.  To find a strange crunch of paper beneath my foot.  There in my life changed for more than I could imagine at the time.

‘Once upon a time, in a simple village surrounded by forests innumerable.  There was a visitor who wandered in, a hermit that claimed to live just out of town.  Now this place was quiet, everyone knew each other, and there was no place to live anywhere close.  Paths ran through for hiking, frolics through nature, but never had any seen the house that was described.  All had heard stories about straying too far away, that darkness and ancient magics were present where the trees grew so tight their leaves choked out the light at all times.  The stranger must be from there, and thus can not be trusted.’

The words seemed to flow so poetically as I read them, as if they were written just for me.  Such a simple story, perhaps to much so.  No matter how easy it was to read it was still the stranger story we have all heard time and time again.  A bit of witchcraft, simple, not something that holds any sway in today’s age of science.

‘What other choice did they have but to scoff at the assertions it made.  The town was open to all and they were welcome so long as they kept the peace.  It was a simple agreement and for a few days it was just that.  There is always a tipping point, some things are just bad luck, coincidence, hard to tell if it’s malicious or sinister in the moment.  Tall and dark, his robe like swayed effortlessly out, a dark brown as if carved from the very woods he came out of.  Waving like he was surrounded by wind.  A smiling face that bore a softness in spite of his eyes looking like they had seen the world.’

It was at this point that I realized the charming little story had me forgetting what I had planned for my day.  It was enchanting to say the least.  Such a quaint and idyllic town a shame for the hardships they endured.  It reminds me of where I grew up, now things are so complicated, but we do what we must to survive.  That’s what it’s all about, bigger and better, growth of what we know for sake of what we don’t or something like that.  When did the skies grow so dark.

‘It had been days since they came to town, when things started going sour.  Hardships though always there seemed to be solely at the blame of the guest.  Still they came to do business, to see more of the world.  To see people.  Over the days they seemed to know everyone, and yet no one really understood who they were seeing from day to day.  Perhaps that is what started the unsettling air that seemed to coalesce around us.  A fair few believed as I do now that it was a high population we were seeing, not the same person but many.  Each time one left a new one was there, oblivious to the plight of its predecessor.  How many stories are there like this, telling us the folly of trusting those from outside.  You must always fear that which you don’t know.  For that very nature, you can’t comprehend what they.’

I had never heard of a story growing so twisted, the words spat onto the page with such venom that they affected by constitution just by reading them.  What a strange sort of feeling to wash over me, wiping the sweat from my brow I decide that I have no choice but to continue.  If anything the plight of these people should be understood and heard.  Yes, so with that I turn the page over.

‘We are undone.  From the time after the first one left to now we have become a shell of our vibrant community.  The colors have turned red in all faces and eyes.  I do not recognize any and I fear it will not stop.  I do not know who comes and goes, the buildings by me grow strange and alien.  As if twisting into cruel renditions of their former selves.  I’m left to wonder, left to stew, as sounds and chants grow louder.  As home becomes a prison and I’m here, clawing at myself for relief from the madness.  The storms have not let up, there is no end to them.’

This is getting upsetting, and now I’m here standing in the rain reading this story from page to page.  It’s not even a good story, I just want to see it through.  It’s basically just become the ramblings of paranoia.  I feel that every day, we are all at risk and should be prepared.  It’s a good thing we don’t make such mistakes like in this story.  I hope this rain doesn’t damage the text.  I’d rather like to see how it ends.

‘Fire with fire it is the only way.  They cannot be handled reasonably.  All attempts have failed and darkness has taken hold where light once reigned.  Evil has defeated good unless I am able to do something about it.’

It’s hardly a good story it’s just melted into some deluded rambling.  Scratches and symbols are all over this page there is hardly any sensible writing at all.  This must be a prank, someone else walking dropped this for me to find.  A cursory glance holds that there is no one else nearby, no tittering laughter from behind a tree, nothing, not even the scurrying of a squirrel or the idle sounds of travel.  Why did I choose to walk today, I knew that just down the street was too far.  I can see the weatherman was wrong again, summer like my ass, why would I be shaking then.

‘Undone, we are undone, I don’t know who I can trust anymore.  I had wanted this to be a simple story, one with a lesson and everything.  The good kind of story, now it has devolved into my ramblings.’

Ramblings, your illustrations are tasteless.  So awful that, I can smell them, taste them, I guess they are well done.  Maybe photos, but that would be too much work.  An elaborate story.  They taste disgusting by the way, and the smell is permeating the air around me like a, miasma.

‘There is always a lesson to be learned, you just have to keep your ears open to the whispers.  The universe is all around us and it wants to teach, to show us how we can be better.’

Oh, now it’s supporting horoscopes.  Did someone just tear this out of a magazine, paper feels to thick for that.  Turning it over, looks like it’s just more illustrations.  They are stranger, more strange, off putting I guess that’s just the way it is nowadays.

‘Without any further interruptions I can begin in earnest.’

I’m shaking, it’s hard to concentrate.  The words keep flowing from the page even if I try and avert my eyes.  It’s grown quiet around me there isn’t even ambiance.

‘Once upon a time, there was a little town that was good and quiet.  We were strong and grounded and that is how it should be.  A town and people that should be written about, that should have kind stories where there might not even be a lesson needed.  Something ideal, that is why we are here.  I’m sorry reader but there was no other possible option.  My hands were tied.  In writing this I have transferred their ire.  The harvests will come back, the people too  back to that first drawing.  Where they are back to being outside the town, where they belong.  With that the town lived happily ever after.’