This is my story, my story is not mine, I'm afraid. The story will go on. Let me see, let me see: who stole my story? An owl stole my story. She woke up early in the morning like a cat and ate my story.
I sleep and I dream. I dream of death. Death comes in many different forms, but always for the same thing. The end of the world.
But why does the end of the world happen? Why does the world end? The world ends because of the instinct of things.
I hope you enjoyed the story, although I must hasten to add that it doesn't end yet. That's right; this is just the introduction. You see, there are more to come.
There are a lot of things that need to be explained in this story; a lot of explanations, a lot of things that need to be cleared up and told you. However, I'm afraid I just don't know enough about this story to know what need to be explained and what needs to be told.
So, I realise, if I don't tell you anything about this story, you'll simply remain lost, never knowing it all.
I cannot bear to let you go like that. I don't want you so upset. I don't want you so confused. You must be told all the things that need to be told, or you'll not understand this story in it's entirety.
The story starts here. It starts here.
The year was 2066 and it was already January. The sun was already staring hard at the Earth, as if it was angry with humans, as if it was angry with all of us, as if it was angry with all living things that are on this planet, and this planet alone, in the whole universe.
The place was somewhere far, far, far away. Somewhere in the desert, somewhere in Algeria, North Africa. The place was a quiet and secluded one. You could feel it in the air, but in truth, the place was quiet only because there was nobody there; there was no one to feel it.
There was just a young man: dusty, tired, and lonely. He walked away from the burning sand, leaving the cold and the burning aridity, and the burning heat, and the burning things, behind him. He walked off into the beautiful desert, that is full of life. This desert, this place, is full of life: an animal life, an insect life, a plant life, a bird life, a plant life, a rabbit life, an insect life, a lizard life, a snake life, and even a wild dog life. There is even a human life. There is a man who lives there: an old man, an old man who has spent many years on the planet Earth, an old man who has lived a long time and has had much experience. A man whose name is Ruben.
Ruben had everything a lonely man needs to be happy. He had a good life, a life filled with everything he needed. He had everything he needed. He had everything he wanted. He had everything he wanted to have. He had a few things that he did not want, but he still loved them, just as he loved everything else.
Ruben lived his life in the most beautiful way he knew. He lived a life of joy. He lived a life of happiness. No, it wasn't just him. It wasn't just him that lived the life. It was all of the planet, though. It was all of the planet, Earth. It was all humans, it was all animals, it was all plants, it was all birds; this life was theirs, but it was not just theirs, it was all there was.
It was all of the planet, yet none of the universe; none of the galaxy, none of the universe, not even very far into the galaxy, somewhere deep, deep into the universe. Nobody could be this far into the universe. Nobody could be this far into the universe. Not because there is nobody, but because nobody can travel far enough to get this far into the universe.
Humanity lived here, here on this planet, on the Earth. Humanity lived here, just as all the other animals and all the other creatures lived here. Humanity lived here, just as all the other creatures did.
This was their home. This was the planet of their birth. This was the planet of their birth, the planet of their birth; it was a thing of shame, a thing of guilt, a thing of sorrow, and a thing of pity.
To him, this was his home: the planet Earth. Yes, he felt bad. He felt sorrow. He felt guilt.
