Ether

The old house spooked many of the locals, often screams could be heard late at night. Not even the local law enforcement dared to investigate. I was located at the top of Digmens Hill surrounded by dense forest, filled with mysterious creatures lurking around each corner. The house itself added a sense of dread, the stone covered in a dark black mould, sections of the roof had began the process of falling in on itself, and the lawn had long since turned to a bog in which old cars could be seen rusting away. The property was owned by an old man of the name Bjorg Vincent. Scarred and disfigured from a hard life of punishment, mostly inflited by others. His right arm ripped off at the shoulder, yet the bone remined potruding form an ever reopening wound. Meanwhile in a little town nestled against the ocean, a young boy washed ashore. It was Nostril. A boy who had been reborn by the sea gods who took pity at his lifelong struggles and granted him a second life. Nostril stood, for the first time in several years, this time ha was going to make it, be the person he was supposed to be. Unfortunately, while he had been contemplating his future, a lone killer whale was eying off his juicy ribs, and with the next wave, pounced upon the small boy who, after a light basting, should roast rather well.

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There once lived a little fich called Gnomotron. Who live in a far away place called Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy, but everyone called it Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy. Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy was a very magical and happy place, for it was build in the middle of the ocean. All the happy folk of Petropavlovsk-Kamchatskiy loved living in there houses made out of seaweed and timber from old growth rainforests. Gnomotron went to school everyday, where he learned all about reading and writing. Gnomotron loved learning. But one day he ate a bad pie and died.