Story Time

This is Devin.
The other day I was exploring the files on an old usb drive that we have. And lo and behold I was rewarded by the USB drive gods who presented me with an old story that Nolan wrote back in High School. (SPOILER!) It involves awesome so don't read ahead if you don't like that.
With no furthur ado, I present to you the story.




The Magic Painter
By: Nolan Renshaw

One day old Picador sat down and began to think. He thought of his life, he thought of his children, but most importantly of all: he thought of his weed. Ah yes, weed; the curer of all sickness, the brightness to every bad day, and the key to all highness. It was a fact that Picador smoked weed often.
On the table next to him were his personal belongings. These items included his brush, his pallet, a broken vase, a load of rubbish and obviously: his weed.

“MMMM,” thought Picador as he reached in his coat for matches. Suddenly a shiver went down his spine, “my matches,” he whispered to himself. “WHERE ARE MY MATCHES!?” Picador felt the heat rise in him as he realized what was going on. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAA,” He Violently screamed, sending himself on a wild goose hunt.

During the hunt, Picador found it appropriate to throw chairs around. It seemed to soothe his soul. It also made the hunt more fun.

About an hour later, Picador plopped down to rest. “Where are my matches?” he sobbed, “Oh boo who, snort, sniff.” A sound caught Picador’s ear. “What was that” he said raising his head, “eek a Rat!” Yet little did picador know, this rat wasn’t just any rat, this rat was different, and he had some matches in his mouth. Unfortunately, before picador could realize the irony of the whole situation, Ratty poo ran away.

“Come back!” picador cried- Even though it was no good because rats couldn’t understand English.-“Come back.” The old man then dropped his head, got up, and walked softly back to his table. He looked around at his ruined house. “Amazing what a difference matches can make,” picador grumbled, and began his long depressing journey of painting a picture, without weed.

THE WEEDY END