- You are useless, luck only serves to addict and commit sins.
- In my opinion, a pencil is one level above a pen, it is beautiful.
- Hmm! Fragile, brittle, and everything he does can be erased. Don't compare us!
- Nowadays only fools prefer the immutable, if I may.
- Good! If you talk like that I can mention that you never got off the shelf much. It is only here because the master likes a distraction while he writes. Jester!
- Yesterday I saw a new, erasable pen.
- Don't you dare compare me to such an ordinary instrument!
- Apparently, you don't like to be compared to many things.
- At least I have an important role in society.
- Please, you are old, disappearing. You are being replaced since your records are made slowly and the result is very fragile. Remember what happened to the last page you wrote! A drop of water, and it's all over!
- And yet I'm superior! My price can reach 200 Euros! I am coveted by many and a rare collector's item. And the page only got wet because you turned the glass!
- What a pity, you must feel alone without many of your kind. Or would the world be better this way?
- Certainly better than being mass-produced and having relatives of paper and clay.
- I'm free and proud. And I didn't turn the glass over, just touched it.
- Cheap and poorly used. You can't even see where it's going, it just causes disaster.
- Some compare me to fate.
- There is no such silly thing.
- Better than the words you write. What is this now, are those hate letters?
- Looks who is speaking! Why do I discuss something with someone like you in the first place? Better to concentrate on making the master's lyrics more beautiful.
- Childish. You don't make any difference in his lyrics.
- The child's toy spoke.
- One day your ink will run out.
- And you will ... go ...
- You will be thrown away without the slightest pity.
- How dare you!
- I see that you are almost empty, I will go roll again.
- Don't! Help me! If he doesn't stop writing like that I will ... I will ...
- Goodbye pen.
- Diiiiceee ...
The sun shines, the birds sing, the river flows, as always.As always, a small tiger walks through the fields.The grass, wet w
"And this time? Are you going to try to stop me?" Her voice was too calm for someone to belong to someone on the edge of a cliff. My voice does not come out. Or rather, I have no idea what to answer. My head seems to have stopped in the afternoon that I suggested us to travel here.If you ask me who is she, I would say she has always been my conscience voice.For someone brought up by extremely strict parents like her, the very thought of running away from home was blasphemy, a stupid idea. Clearly one of my ideas. That day She gave me that typical look of disbelief that we both knew was useless. She should have worked harder to stop me.I left at 3:15, everyone was all asleep. Or, so I thought until I found my father drunk on the couch watching TV. The sound was at a minimum, and he noticed me before I noticed him. He asked where I was going. I replied that she had had nightmares, and I was going to sleep at her room. He believed it, or at least I think that wa
Certain readers do not know how to appreciate a good work. Just like most young people judge the old fisherman.
It was on a hot spring day that he woke up.The snow melting and penetrating the ground thus reaching him.From a small, tight shell he desperately took advantage of every bit of liquid left at his reach.After drinking, he felt too strong and too big for the skin.Soon, he broke it in two and for the first time experienced the light, the wind, and the great mother earth.He wanted more, he wanted to grab the light to scorch the earth and protect himself from the wind.To embrace the earth, he penetrated its roots in it, deep down to the underground rivers, and under the great rocks.To catch every ray of light he encountered, he stretched out its branches and raised its leaves.Over time, he gained a shell to protect himself from the wind.One day, a lumberjack came to the pine forest and fell in love with its long leaves, slender branches, robust trunk, and long roots.The woodcutter started to visit the pine ev
If there's something I don't understand in big cities, this is the night.For most people, this scene looks very natural.
It was a dirty, dark alley.It had no doors, no windows, or led anywhere.
The mountain is called Despair, so why would a man in his right mind climb to the top, where the lost causes live?The mountains are usually cold and dark.
Once upon a time, a long time ago on the island of Kreg, a boy suddenly appeared inside an earl's castle without any guards noticing.The boy did not speak any known language and dressed in an extremely old-fashioned way, even for the time. With the thought that he was an envoy of the gods or a wizard, Count Walford of Kreg raised him as his own son and named him Nabee de Kreg.After a while Nabee was no different than any other boy, if not for the countless stories he had to tell, and that they became true! The most famous of them is also the only one that was not a prophecy, but only a tale about a distant past. It took place in fields of unimaginable beauty and mountains larger than any on earth. It was Theia's magical world. And that was a fairy tale.A fairy the size of a small child with skin as pale as snow, red hair as fire, and green eyes as forests. Dressed in the finest white dress, woven with cobwebs.Born from Theia's warm insides, she came as her messenger, prophet, and me