This was a primitive world, It's inhabitants convinced of their own uniqueness and self worth. He hadn't wanted this, but they wouldn't listen. They believed in independent evolution, that each society needed to find their own feet. But he knew otherwise; he knew that this race, like so many others, would reach the galactic scale only to find it alien territory, to be punished for trespass and most likely the use of banned propulsion systems. An intrepid, young race, punched in the face by a possessive older neighbour. They would probably fight. They wouldn't realise the vastness of their enemy and would commit suicide, eradicated under the dangerous races act.

Prologue.

            The landscape sparkles with glistening ice. The crisp, yet utterly calm, chill air biting with sharp freshness. Not a thing moves save the skittering of spiders as they run on silken spider webs. A few birds rise in an excited arc, singing in musical harmony and disappearing in the frozen woods.

Once upon a time in a land not so far away and a time not so long ago, a tortoise received word of his aunt's illness. so he pulled on his jacket and grabbed a bag of medicine for her and headed for Palor Lake. To get to Palor Lake, the tortoise would have to go through the land of the bizarre, the Belair woods.

Now in this time there were whispers of overly odd things happening in the heart of the woods but the tortoise was resolute on his journey and slowly began to plod down the path and towards the woods. "Sir, Sir. Don't go in there. Nothing good ever happens there." The speaker was a meek field mouse who was farming potatoes.

The Crow And The Parrots - ROGER CRATON
Once, a rather large and smelly crow found his way through an open door into a pet store and settled on a perch next to the parrots. The owner was amused at the stand-offish manner that the parrots held toward the crow. People in the community got wind of the crow and came into the shop to see it. So, the owner began feeding the crow.

Every morning the owner would come in early to feed the birds. As he entered, he would call out to the birds, "Good morning friends." The parrots would all mimic him saying,"Morning friends." As he fed them he said,"How are my pretties?" The parrots would mimic. "Are my pretties?" As he finished he would say, "Bye sweeties." The parrots would mimic saying, " Sweeties." The crow, quietly bemused, always observed this. One day he asked them, " Why do you copy his words?" The lead parrot snapped, " Quiet fool! Those are the sacred words, the root of all are beliefs. We must repeat them to insure future feedings." The crow retorted, " It is you that are fools, those words are empty. He will feed us regardless of our response. He is paying no attention to your words." The parrots started crying out for his blood. The parrot leader said," You know nothing. We don't have to listen to you. Keep quiet and count your blessings that the owner feeds you too as a result of our prayers."

Long time ago, there was a bird.

The bird could fly, to the highest of the mountains.

The bird could sing, with the loneliest voice.

It was a bird of happiness.

It was a bird of sadness.

One night she talked to a tree.

The tree told her all birds should fly south.

So the bird flew south, to the very south.

  `Here!' cried Alice, quite forgetting in the flurry of the
moment how large she had grown in the last few minutes, and she
jumped up in such a hurry that she tipped over the jury-box with
the edge of her skirt, upsetting all the jurymen on to the heads
of the crowd below, and there they lay sprawling about, reminding
her very much of a globe of goldfish she had accidentally upset

 The King and Queen of Hearts were seated on their throne when
they arrived, with a great crowd assembled about them--all sorts
of little birds and beasts, as well as the whole pack of cards:
the Knave was standing before them, in chains, with a soldier on
each side to guard him; and near the King was the White Rabbit,
with a trumpet in one hand, and a scroll of parchment in the

Watermelon

I saw the mirage of watermelon field this morning. An edgeless field of delicious watery fruit spread over the northern desert. The image of their fat juicy body soothed my thirst.

Thieves from the southern city went to steal the melons. I passed by one who carried a huge sphere of green stripe melon. He looked proud for his accomplishment, “Look! This watermelon can feed my thirst for a week.”

 

In the beginning God came up with a new idea. So he found himself a shoebox and began his creation.

The First Day

The Beginning begins when the End ends.

For eons, no one care about existence.

Then the creator created

And the created was made. 

Who's the creator, who's the created?