Today though, I decided to try a bit of creative writing too, not just journal, this is a bit of a story, a "fable" from my land, here, I share it with you all:
In the land of long ago, past the rolling green hills of emeralds and not yet reaching the timeless sea of Peace, was born a donkey.
Unbeknownst to many around him, the fact of the matter was this was indeed no ordinary simple donkey, made for a life of toil and tilling, of reaping the ground under a heavy load, or traversing the towns with wares on his back.
This donkey was not only born for more, but indeed decided that his life was his own to do as he pleased.
Although he kept forgetting about it constantly.
Many are the stories of the wandering donkey, facing the endless stream of faceless harpies, merging into a shapeless song of grief and pain, that left deep scars on the donkey's hide, but this is not the place to tell those stories, this is in fact, the song of the Crowning of the Donkey, and how he came to bear the fruits of the maiden's release, for he indeed conquered a witch and brought back balance to the land.
After dreadful struggle, and facing the monsters of old the donkey had grown complacent and landed in a simple abode, the rut of routine had indeed began the siren's call and our hero, and as much as he knew the bulk of his yoke was falling on him to carry alone, he dared not take off and run free as he was.
For a witch had taken hold of the donkey's reigns and his destiny was not his own to choose any longer.
Yet the witch would not release the donkey, or provide him with sustenance, in the horizon loomed an eternal struggle where our hero would continue in his stride yet never reach dry land.
As luck would have it, the witch withered after an enormous flood reached her, and wailing "Nevermore..." was, indeed, no more.
Eons and ages struck the donkey, but he toiled onward carrying his load until reaching a safe port of passage and aiding a maiden in crossing beyond the valley of The Little Death, cementing this, the passing of the witch, and renewing the donkey's strength.
In return for braving du petit morte, the donkey was crowned, for the maiden was a princess in peril, and wishing no more of her kingdom released it onto the donkey's capable back self, engulfing him in flames of glory, and all through the land, you could hear a cry "Ding dong, the witch is gone!! The queen has passed, long live the donkey's Crown!"
