MondayMistake

You’ve just arrived in a swampy, dim town. As you look around, your gaze is met with shacks and cabins. It smells of rotted wood and wet moss. You duck and step into a tattered tent, illuminated by a series of candles suspended in the air. At the back of the tent, an old hag raises her head, “What brings you to this dingy town? she begins, then pauses to study your face—”Ah, it’s you. I’ve been expecting you. Sit,” she gestures at a cushion, “Tell me your story.”

((How do you respond?))

I would eye the crone quizzically before replying with a casual demeanour, "Naturally I am a miserable, financially inadequate git from a faraway town. I have been cursed by eternal agony, excessive madness, and, of course, optimistic views on even the most grim of happenings," I'd pause. "When I was four, I trekked into the forest, for I had heard an odd sequence of sounds. It sounded, to my undeveloped hearing, as if three lambs were shrieking at a hag. Anyhow, my kith and kin's food supply was depreciating; two or three lambs would be greeted with much gay." I cast an enquiring glance at the crone before resuming. "As I advanced toward the source of the cacophony, a carmine liquid with a baleful appearance bubbled on the soft turf. I was obviously startled. How would you feel if your young-self was gawking at a river of blood? Well, I was terrified. I felt feverish." I would stroke my chin for a few moments, engrossed in the horrific scenes of inequity I had witnessed. "I traversed the pathway to my village, what was left of it that is. It was a smoking inferno exhaling coils of leering smoke. I had no one, I had nothing; I was a mere witness of unearthly injustice." He smiled, inclining his head towards the crone, and said, "Well, there you have it. I am a vagabond travelling this "dingy town" in search of a well-paying job."