And you did that how?-Dave
The day was long, and okay. I went to the mall with my mom, and i met up with Dave and Jimmy, twas fun! We got kicked out of American Eagle! Yeah good job Jimmy!! But then they had to leave ::tear tear:: So i met back up with my mom, i went to Hot Topic and Pac Sun, and bought loads of shit, with my OWN money! My mom hates Hot Topic, and told me
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This is the Land of Tixtly
In the Land of Tixtly there were many people, most good, some bad, many of whom which things were for the most part normal, to their eyes, and which enter not into the story of which we speak.
This is in fact a story of not just one of the people of Tixtly, but the story of a small town in the land of Tixtly, a town much like any other. The inhabitants of this town were much as the inhabitants of any other town in Tixtly, playing the same games, eating the same things, walking the same walk.
In this town there was a person who was not one of the normal people. He was one of the normal people, but something happened to him one day, something odd, and it changed him. He was not like anyone else anymore, because something odd had happened to him, and now his thoughts ran in circles coming again and again to the odd thing that had happened to him.
The people of the town, they went about their business, eating, sleeping, walking, talking, things of the everyday, all without worry of the man who's thoughts looped and looped and looped. He walked among them with out looking, ate without tasting, slept and dreamt and dreamt and dreamt. It seemed as though dreaming was all he ever did, the same dream, running though his head, speeding quickly, crawling slowly, never ending, always looping, looping looping. One day, as he walked he tripped on a stone, it was in the noonday shadow, and he fell, hard on his hands and knees. He got back up and looked at the stone, marvelling that such a thing that he stepped over every day could bring him low, to the ground itself, He never touched the stone, such was his respect for it, but walked away, mind looping, now to the stone, now to the oddity of before. And all around him nobody watched him, nobody pay attention to what he was thinking or stopped to ask why his knees were dirty.
A friend of his was walking through the town looking at the ground, kicking rocks out of his way, looking all the people around him, knowing that they were the people of his town, and what they were about, he walked on, thinking of the things he likes or doesn't like. Near the end of the road he was on he thought of his friend, of whom he had seen very little.
To a house of size not great, with windows that let though much of the night outside, the people came, at a time already appointed, to gather together. Inside they stood, and sat, and talked quietly to each other, but one man stood to one side his mind looping and looping and looping. They did not notice, they did not stop talking, and to each other all seemed well. The friend of the man, he talked to the others, laughed at their jokes, sat on the chairs, ate of their food, and sooner or later came close to his friend and inquiried politely after his health. It flowed from his mouth like a stream, never ending, gushing wildly, the words twisting, weaving speaking of the oddity, the stone, the walking and the talking to nobody, the fall, the respect, the wandering without looking. He just sat there, staring as these words poured over him, though him, passed right by him, things without meaning. Others stood around and stopped and listened and opened their eyes wide. Truth was being spoken, and it was an odd thing.
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