Something I was working on. Don't really know where i'm going with it.
|In a series of manic movements a man kicked over the table, spat in the waiters face, splashed some gasoline and lit himself on fire. And so the town sprung into chaos not knowing why any prestigious member of their glorious community would do such a thing. The man was the captain of the waiters rugby team, he was part owner of the coffee shop and he even built the table himself. The village leaders interrogated the matches and came to the conclusion that the burning man was actually an imposter within their ranks that seeked to destroy the peace and quiet of their small village. But, as more manic movements appeared and more coffee shops burned to the ground, on the threat that the good people of the village would no longer have a place to enjoy coffee and not talk to people they are sitting with, the villages leader, who happened to be a goat, called upon constable Oswald from the village over. As the constable also enjoyed coffee and not talking, he rushed over first thing in the morning in order to investigate these catastrophic events. As the constable arrived in the village on his grey donkey the village people threw flowers in front of him and cheered hurrah for a hope in the great coffee shop crisis as the events of those days would come to be known years later. The constable’s first order of business was to bow before the village leader and have a cup of coffee. As the constable didn’t know anyone well enough to not talk to them while drinking coffee, he was quite lonely. After that he went on to investigate the crime scenes, but they were all only a pile of ash so he just had another cup of coffee instead. With joy of having so much good coffee, the constable went to the house of the first burning man in order to see if there were any clues. The man’s room looked just like any other normal coffee drinkers room, with the picture of the village goat on the wall, a table with the usual five almonds on it and a drawer where people kept their liquid glass. But in the drawer the constable found the most peculiar thing. A really bad poem:
In fields of white roses I cry
Waiting for the winds to blow
My eyes will never again be dry
Until the clouds fall over low
The constable dismissed it as tom-foolery of the wretched snow globes and ran away from the room with an increased need for coffee, however in his absence the last coffee shop had burned down and town was descending into panic. The constable, being only nine years of age, called for his mother and went to cry behind the local almond monument.