An incomplete story from the desert

Before your grandfather, and your grandfathers’ grandfather, and a thousand grandfathers besides, there was Failure. A miserable, worthless sort, they wasted every chance given to them by their elders, disrespecting them due to sheer incompetence. Even still, they tried to aid how they could, in their ignorant and foolish manner, through what little they knew of the world.

Once, the Designer came to the Failure. “You are a knowing sort of person,” the Designer said, “might you have any idea how to design this pen for goats, so as to give the greatest space for what limited material we have” The Failure had read of this, and after an agonizingly long period, realized that using the bluff as the fourth wall of the pen would allow the material to give a much larger pen. This trifling, idiotic idea that anyone could have had in half the time was relayed to the Designer, and thus the Failure left, for they knew their presence was abhorrent and should not be forced upon others for so long.


But even for all the people they tried to help, the [Blotted out by tears] was truly underserving, the wretch of the earth, not worth anything but scorn and who had somehow convinced the people around them that they were not. This true act of evil, of forcing the populace to care about them, disgusted even the wretch and as such they journeyed out into the desert, where their presence would no longer burden the rest of their people and they would finally get what they deserved because they were a worthless pointless force for nothing but misery and didn’t deserve eyes or help or anything and [the rest of the document is illegible due to water damage]

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