The Farmer also Cries
Clyde was an old hen farmer, who lived at the end of Mapleberry Road, and enjoyed eating watermelon and watching the sun set. One day, he saw his rooster cry a tear of pain and sadness, which lingered a moment near his eye, and slowly made its way through his feathery body, down to the ground beneath his small rooster talons. The farmer was saddened by the sight, but not taken aback, as he had seen this happen once before.
Sally strutted through the hallway, sniffing merrily at the passersby as they strolled their way down to their domiciles. Why not? she asked herself, with a certain glee. I don't care if they do think I'm strange. I am strange.
Last month was the first time in seventy-one days that Sally had done anything remotely odd or unusual. She had been trying to restrain herself from such eccentricities, but to no avail. Her desire finally overcame her and she fell back into her old ways.
What exactly did she do seventy-one days prior to last month that caused her to cease her oddities? What was it that I did seventy-one days prior to last month that caused me to cease my oddities? Sally pondered to herself, with great benefit to us. I think I was in the basement of my seven-story house eating a walnut pie. That's pretty strange Sally. I agree.
To appease the forces that recognized her bizarre behavior, Sally decided to never again eat walnut pie (although mainly, it was because she was now all out of pie, and did not wish to make any more...also, it didn't taste that great...also, she was allergic to walnuts, but not tremendously so, but enough so that she broke out in a rash the following day. So, we see there were many reasons for her decision to stop eating walnut pie, but the forces were left uninformed on these counts). Her decision caused many people, and most importantly, the forces, to leave her in solitude to live out her days in peace.
However, just seventy-one days later, as the story goes, Sally thought to herself, Gee, I'd really like some walnut pie. This represented the first time in over seventy days that Sally had thought of walnut pie, or any pie for that matter. Although, truth be told, Sally had eaten some strawberry shortcake about forty-five days prior to this, which is similar in many ways to pie. It's not pie, it's cake, Sally had said to herself that most unfateful day. If it were pie, it would make me sick. However, Sally had gotten quite sick, and while she was vomiting into her hands that night, rushing to reach the bathroom to prevent dripping the vomitous condiments onto her white carpet, she thought to herself, Maybe it was pie, afterall.
It was not pie, but, nonetheless, forty-five short days later, she was again thinking of pie. And not just any pie. Walnut pie.
It took Sally all of sixty-two minutes to whip herself up a beautiful, well-cooked pie, with plenty of walnuts to go around. She ate the whole pie in just under nineteen minutes, and decided she wanted seconds. She made a second pie. It tasted fifteen times yummier than the last. The next one she made was not quite as good as the second one, but at that point, Sally was no longer hungry. She lied down to sleep, and dreamt of walnut pies with chocolate frosting (which she had forgotten to buy at the store that day, and therefore did not place on the pie).
After her pleasant dreams of walnut pies, Sally was prepared to begin a new day, fresh and satiated. But, to her chagrin, she found that she was still hungry. She ate the leftover third pie from the night before, and found inside of the pie a silver bullet. This is quite odd, she thought to herself, and went to bed on a pile of unlit matches.
Somewhere, exactly fifty-eight miles away, a rooster cried a tear of pain which trickled down his feathers, and onto the floor of the coop. The farmer was greatly saddened, and sacrificed the rooster to achieve some means of sanity.
Seventeen years later, the farmer was greatly touched by the nature of his recollection, as a new rooster - his first rooster in over fifty years - cried a tear of sadness in the same way as his good rooster friend had done all those years back. A tear began to form in the left eye of the farmer. Take note, thought the rooster. The farmer also cries.
