- Joined
- Feb 4, 2014
- Messages
- 113
I stared at the goat, its eyes were square, and I didn't understand why, but the vision stayed with me for the rest of my life, and that night I woke up, I knew the goat had come for me.
It all started off innocently enough, I took a mild interest in goats, I found them interesting, interesting enough to buy various goat memorabilia and books, it was the books that were my downfall...
As I walked down a quiet country road in Cornwall, I came across one of those shops that seem to sell everything, old bits of furniture, bric'a'brac, useless antiques and out of print books, it was the books that lured me in... that fateful (and unfortunate) day.
You see, they had an unusually large collection of goat related literature, that alone should have set off the alarm bells, but I was young and careless, I did not read the signs.
The lady who served me was nice enough, she didn't bat an eyelid at the volume of books I had decided to purchase, least of all comment on the fact they were all to do with goat... I should have known then, that something was not right.
She stuffed them various containers, some paper bags some plastic carriers from various supermarkets, but all the time I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, something, terribly wrong.
I stared at her as she packed away my items, almost daring her to give me some hint, some clue... to validate these terrible feelings of doom, but the lady hardly gave me a glance, if she knew something, she was not letting on.
I ambled out of the strange old shop, my arms weighed down by the volumes of goat related media and looks around furtively, there was nobody else around. I made my way home without further incidence.
**2 Days Later**
The pain of my addiction knows no bounds, the leather bound volume sold to me by that wicked old lady, with the treatise explaining the herding of none native goats, has led me to insanity. If I had known the intricacies of pain that would be hurled upon me as a result of my purchase, I would have fled, leaving all I have behind. Nay, it is too late for me. The goat has got me, the witch that played this curse upon my innocent soul is surely laughing. Let her laugh, my suffering is not without merit, not without reward. I now know how to herd goats, a skill that even the wise have yet to discover, and although this knowledge may bring madness, I take the gift with ease, knowing that I am one of the few.
I die now, Happy.
It all started off innocently enough, I took a mild interest in goats, I found them interesting, interesting enough to buy various goat memorabilia and books, it was the books that were my downfall...
As I walked down a quiet country road in Cornwall, I came across one of those shops that seem to sell everything, old bits of furniture, bric'a'brac, useless antiques and out of print books, it was the books that lured me in... that fateful (and unfortunate) day.
You see, they had an unusually large collection of goat related literature, that alone should have set off the alarm bells, but I was young and careless, I did not read the signs.
The lady who served me was nice enough, she didn't bat an eyelid at the volume of books I had decided to purchase, least of all comment on the fact they were all to do with goat... I should have known then, that something was not right.
She stuffed them various containers, some paper bags some plastic carriers from various supermarkets, but all the time I could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, something, terribly wrong.
I stared at her as she packed away my items, almost daring her to give me some hint, some clue... to validate these terrible feelings of doom, but the lady hardly gave me a glance, if she knew something, she was not letting on.
I ambled out of the strange old shop, my arms weighed down by the volumes of goat related media and looks around furtively, there was nobody else around. I made my way home without further incidence.
**2 Days Later**
The pain of my addiction knows no bounds, the leather bound volume sold to me by that wicked old lady, with the treatise explaining the herding of none native goats, has led me to insanity. If I had known the intricacies of pain that would be hurled upon me as a result of my purchase, I would have fled, leaving all I have behind. Nay, it is too late for me. The goat has got me, the witch that played this curse upon my innocent soul is surely laughing. Let her laugh, my suffering is not without merit, not without reward. I now know how to herd goats, a skill that even the wise have yet to discover, and although this knowledge may bring madness, I take the gift with ease, knowing that I am one of the few.
I die now, Happy.
