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"Ha!" said Symon. "Shows what you know. If the Author
was good he would not have allowed me to do that. See! I've proven your
silly book wrong again! Bloody morons. I'm tired of you and your dogmatic
Black Book." Symon tramped off, kicking a chair, scowling at the
people at the next table, and cursing whilst muttering all sorts of
profanities under his breath. How can they even think that there
is an Author creating everything. I have free will! I can do what I
please. I'm not even going to go to work tomorrow! By now he was wandering through a mostly empty park. He shook his fist up at the sky, yelling out: "Author! You have no authority over me! I will do whatever I please!" An elderly couple observed him rant away at nobody in particular. They quickly scuttled off to inform the local Head Scribe of the Big Black Book. The Head Scribe, on hearing about this wild and uncontrollable fellow, gathered together a group of young scribblers (for that's what scribes still in training are called), and followed the directions given by the old couple. They soon found Symon. It was not hard, they just wondered around the park until they heard him shouting : "Tree! you're not even a tree! You're just words in The Book. Ha-hah-haaa-hee!" The Scribe and scribblers approached cautiously, ducking behind bushes as they stalked. "Now!" said the scribe, and the scribblers jumped out from their hiding places, one of them holding The Official Net. It was a furious battle, for although Symon was not tall, he was stocky, energetic - and it must be said, the scribblers were quite afraid of him. But after much wrestling, punching, kicking and biting, they finally managed to capture Symon in The Official Net. As they carried him away, he was heard to say "Author, you bastard! How can you let these scribblers tie me up in a net that is is just made of words? I'll get you back for this! I swear!" Some time later; Symon, gagged and bound, was brought before the Head Scribe, and his deputies. He was making muffled curses beneath his gag, his eyes flashing, and his pointy ears twitching. "Well, what are we supposed to make of this?" said the Head Scribe to the Shoulder Scribe. The Shoulder Scribe conferred with the Elbow Scribe; but it was the Finger Scribe that encouraged them to wait until Symon had calmed down. After some time, Symon began to tire. His normally pointy ears began to droop. And his wild eyes began to sag. |
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