Oceans rise and empires fall but one constant throughout it all is that there is but one true thing a hero must arise again.
Three times three his trials be and one by one the trials flee before his power before his might and once again our souls are light.
Friends he’ll lose and enemies gain the world will never be the same but should our hero Dante stumble this whole world to dust will crumble.
That’s what she told me. I walked into her tent by accident and she tells me that this is my future.
I can’t help but feel like some of those rhymes were forced. But according to her, I’ve got nine trials to face or the world will crumble. What does that even mean? Is a trial me getting lost on the way to the shops or is it me getting hit by a bus and fighting for survival? Will I be attacked on my way to work, fight cancer? Is writing a novel a trial? Perhaps an actual trial? I could be wrongly accused… Sounds pretty trially to me. Ooo, perhaps I’ll run. Forrest Gump made it look like a trial. I’ll just run and run and I won’t stop.
Perhaps a proper gladiatorial fight. That sounds like fun.
I’m fairly sure I’m not a hero. Is that an existential crisis? An existential trial, perhaps? Ergh, I’m so caught up in what that crazy old witch told me. Stupid, dreadlocked, beanie hatted witch. She had such crazy eyes, wild and roaming. Really, she played the act fantastically.
I’ll have to go back and see her. She has to explain. She’s got to just be inventing things.
She has to be, right?
I’ll just go back and see her. That’s the way forward.
Well, fuck. I went back to see her. Or at least, I tried. But the fair has left town. And I got arrested. And a hospital visit. And a lot of running. And a fight. I’m not sure if she was right, or if I was.
I may have missed a couple of steps there. Well, this is what happened…
The Idiot in Tin Foil