I’m a big fish in a small pond, which leaves me so little to look forward to.
Every day it’s the same old grind. Yell at the wife. Get chased by the Crocodile. Chase the Baby. Avoid the Constable. Watch Judy whack anyone who displeases her. If I’m lucky, apply my slapstick to some lout.
But all in all, it is a dull life confined to the tiny stage.
No chance to exercise my art. I want to write. To publish. To be famous for something aside from slapstick and professed clumsiness.
My lot in life is always be a puppet for the Professor.
No one went there. It was darker, and creepy. It was easier to just go around.
Everyone knew that the best poisons came from its fringe. Nightshade and death-cap mushrooms grew in the twilight near the edge, and Hemlock grew just outside the edge. No one remembered a time when it wasn’t there, looming, and yet ignored.
But those few who dared enter found in its depths a grotto, with a clear view of the sky, and just enough sunlight.