Once there was a fool.

 He lived happily ever after.



I didn't see who did it. But some days later I saw a homeless man drawing over and over different short stories on the walls of our emerald city. I looked and saw different micro shorts all over the place, but in out of the way places.

I asked what the drive for this creation of a million stories was. He didn't say much except that the stories we tell will all be dust, so tell or don't. Doesn't matter.

Never saw him again.

Shame.



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