Deep and dark, in the treacherest alley of the most deepest and darkest bog, there was a story taking place. This story was so deep and dark, that it could only occur in the deepest and darkest, most treacherest alley of the most deepest and darkest bog. It is not the story of a murder, though perhaps by the end you may feel you’re mind has been murdered. There will be tense changes, and there will be words that do not exist. Those who cannot stand the slaughter of grammar, the goriest of bad literature, please, cover your eyes for the sake of humanity. But for those who find it a liberation, a proud glory on earth, uncover the person’s eyes next to you and shout your anarchy!
Let us begin.
Down in this deepest, darkest, treacherest alley, of the most deepest, darkest bog there was a storyteller just sitting there. They had a tale in their mind, and words upon their heart. But there was no one to listen, no one to hear the beautiful tale they so longed to tell. A moment of silence please I must request, for this poor storyteller who has such a magnificent story to tell, but no one to tell it to.
Now that the world has stopped to pay respect to me, I can continue with the actual story in this. This storyteller now has someone who will listen to their magnificent story. Then again, maybe it ain’t so magnificent.
Gather round now, like any good storyteller would say. Warm up by the fire (we’re just waiting for it to spontaneously combust at any moment now).