The Writeventures of Emaleecious

Once I went to the Market I saw a man, His brother and Son. They wanted to purcahse some items as is usual with people in the square. But something was unusual... The man saw some things, dirty and insignificant if you ask me, very tiny Like ants, but lost without a leader left to the storms of life The father turned to his son, He was on his knees, helping the things to their feet. Releiving them of their burdens He nods in agreement gives up his son as currency in exchange for theses things. The son becomes soap and washes them. They become clean, transformed. The father and Son leave the market. With the things, they leave the brother to guide and guard them. To serve as their conscience until the return with his sin to claim their purchase.

The bells chime The books sit down They begin to write For hours unending, they pour out their minds A do or die affair. The bell chimes. Finally they stop writing. Some are happy and call the exam substandard Some are angry at the books Others are indifferent Some lament for plans foiled but nobody really knows until the judgement day which book studied which and which book has become which

Hmmm, rumour mongers They usually come in whispers Some with shouts of joy Some with wailing and lamentations The end result is usually anger Anger by the accused Anger at betrayal, secrets exposed The only solution is a reversal of what has been broadcast This is impossible because a rumour, once released can never be returned. Be careful what with what you say. Your words just might return to haunt you!