Some thoughts of no import

Strange happenings were afoot in a small stone building at the top of the world.  Well it wasn't truly at the top of the world, though it was at most times above the clouds. And by the standards of the time, it was rather a large building indeed. Still, despite its large main hall and impressive wooden door laden with gemstones, there was nothing all too impressive about the building. As a matter of fact, it was merely the home of one woman.   It was also the main centre of worship and devotion to the greatest religion anyone in a very long distance had known. This was the place where the futures were revealed to the first Pontiac. This was the place to which thousands flocked every year. This was the edge of the world.   And here at the end of the world, around the small building which housed the world's most respected and revered being, had sprouted a town. No one could remember which prince, king, or warlord had founded it, so none of them exerted any influence t

I've always dreamed of a good story. It seems to be a universal pursuit throughout mankind's existence. Perhaps not for all, perhaps not even most, or even many. But always some. There have always been those who've wanted to tell a good story for its own sake. Not to convey a moral, not to critique a person or policy, and certainly not for any personal gain. Even for the sake of entertainment. No, a story told for any reason other than itself is in a way tainted, impure, no matter the intentions behind it.