I walked across the street, my eyes filled with the discordant array of wavelengths seeking to represent the advent of industrialisation and human ingenuity. My shoulders were bruised from the ruthlessness of the persons walking to their specific destination; their eyes were hollow and narrow. Was I the only one who could see this? The food had stained their faces a grimy orange, a deplorable and cacophono.

As I walk down the road,. I can feel their cold eyes fall upon me. They think that I am one of them. One of those who shattered the bubble,. Which had lasted so long in this society. These people insult me, ridicule me, and more. Than anything, hate me. It does not matter who I am or what I do,. I am only this to them. To them, I was one of the hijackers,. To them I am a terroist.

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A Tale About Social Justice, Re-Distribution of Wealth, and Squirrels. But then came the Flood. Fluffy thought about that day bitterly as he scratched around for anything,. That he could take back to the dray. An acorn hidden by a crusty brown leaf, perhaps, or a mushroom. It was springtime now, and the dray should have been blo.