fortytwo

So, just over a year later, I've got a story I'd like to tell you.
Okay, here it goes.

There once was a sheep. The end.
What do you mean that's not the end? It most certainly can be the end. Oh, it's not properly constructed like a story. Fine.

There once was a sheep named Sheep. He died. The end.
What now? For the love of... look, I don't tell you how to right stories. I'm not allowed to do it that way? How did he die? Does it matter? He just dies. All right.

There once was a sheep named Sheep. Actually I don't know what his name is and never cared to find out. Before his death, which I'll get to later as he's still a small sheep and doesn't die yet, he was a happy sheep eating grass, and eating more grass. He had a pretty relaxed life. Not much happened. I mean, he's a sheep. He was chased by a dog once. And he had a llama for a buddy. But mostly he stood in one spot and chewed on grass. Sometimes he'd even go down to the river and drink from it. Woo... fun. Yep, life was great, not a care in the world. Then one day the sky went dark and Sheep the sheep was taken away by a strange animal with no fur and didn't walk on four legs.

For anyone not in the know, I'm referring to humans. More specifically the farmer. Que shocking horror music.

Once captive to the farmer he was cut ear to ear and bow to stern, served up for christmas dinner and was good and dead. And tasty.

The End.

Oh, now my story is to horrific. Well you wanted to know. Okay, maybe some of you didn't, but some did. Anyway, that's what happens to sheep on farms. You know, that's life. Cheers, +dk