Alright my little rascals, I hear you’re in need of some good stories. It just so happens that I have a couple of good ones that I’d love share with you.
You see, I have experienced quite a few adventures over my twenty years of life. Ok, twenty-five. Fine, thirty-four, but that’s the oldest anyone will ever get me to admit to.
Now, I know you’ve heard of me, or at least my reputation as a storyteller. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have sought me out.
I live in a wooded area just outside a small town of Westler. If you’ve never heard of it, don’t feel bad, most people haven’t. Anyhoo, in our town of Westler there is a collection of orphaned children. They do like to horse play before they drift off to the land of dreams. The caretaker at the orphanage struggled with such a cumbersome task of gettin’ all the little ones to bed. He was an acquaintance of mine, and he heard me tellin’ a story or two while I was in town. So, he asked me to come help him with his restless rascals. Tell them of my adventures and what not.
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Over a couple of month’s time, my stories left my lips and sunk into these children’s imaginations. Enjoyin’ them, those children told my stories to other young minds in the town and, well, they told their friends and so on and so forth. Word of my adventures spread far and wide like butter across a hot biscuit.
Every night, more and more children wandered into the orphanage and stood either around the room or just out in the hallway, to hear my excitin’ tales. Personally, I think most of my stories were nonsensical slices of life. But those children, they wanted to meet these people I’ve run into and go to the places I’ve gone.
What does all this information have to do with the price of goat’s milk? Well, I’m about to tell you, my little rascals.
I had been tellin’ my stories for a few months when a man from a distant land came to me and requested to pen my stories down onto paper. I wasn’t sure why, but I had no objections. On hisparchment, he took down my words… well, alright, not all my words. Just some of them.
I remember readin’ what he put together once he was done. He had gone and messed the whole thing up. All of my tales were shortened to one-page rhymes, at best. He removed all the back stories to every tale. He claimed that ‘readers could care less about such things.’
Fiddle-faddle, I say!
I thought I was gonna box his ears right there!
Before I could explain to him my opinion properly, my dearest friend, Anne, stopped me in my tracks with six words.
“Why not tell your stories yourself?’
It was as if the sun shone down just on me against a thunder bumper kind of sky. Genius! Why hadn’t I thought of it myself?
Since these are NOT fairy tales, I shall NOT begin with ‘Once Upon a Time’.
No, for these tales, I shall extend my term of endearment towards you as ‘my little rascals’ because I really like you already.
I will be tellin’ a slew of the backstories to these rhymes. So, buck up buttercup! Get your blanket ready. Curl up on your bed and get comfortable!
We are about to begin our journey!