/lit/ - Literature

>>17043247
Deep in Oxfordshire, in 1352AD, atop a wooden crate stands a noble man. With a button nose and curly brown hair, his green eyes pierced the market square. His senses are heightened, for he must tell the people the truth of the suffering they face today.

The smell of feces, death, blood and guts mixed with mud and shattered cobblestone has been a normal smell for the past five years. Such a long time, it has almost been forgotten this square was once thriving.

He shouts, "Heareth me, people. These art the w'rst times we has't seen! i knoweth not if 't be true 'twill receiveth bett'r, but this is lacking valor!"

In the crowd, a strange looking man listened to what the noble had to say. He puts his bag of wheat back on his bosom to imitate the look of a female breast. His filthy dress that once belonged to a woman drapes over him like a burlap sack full of bricks. He says back to the noble, "So basically the lacking valor p'riod coincides precisely with the p'riod which thee has't exp'rience of? wow. very much maketh thee bethink!"

The noble stares back in bewilderment of this oblivious transvestite. He steps off the create, the feeling utter defeat and disgust overcomes him. No one else cared or wished to listen except for those who want to berate.