• Roses are Red, Violets are Blue, Life is Depressing, Mine Included Too

    Once upon a time, there was a man named Jacques who lived in the small town called Foret du Nuit. Jacques was an extremely optimistic man who was also very sensible. While most of the people of France were very superstitious, Jacques believed none of it. The people of Foret, as we will call it, were a very miserable lot. There town was named so because it was next to an enormous forest that was said to be haunted by demons and ghosts of all sorts. Needless to say, the people of Foret had many plagues upon their lives every day. There were many diseases which could not be cured, the food would wither on the stalk, their livestock continually went missing, and people died of these things everyday. Yet throughout his upbringing, Jacques was continually optimistic in the face of these embittering troubles.
    For the townspeople, Jacques was considered the local loon, and generally disliked by his spiteful and cruel peers. One night after a particularly wretched and despairing day, the local men, who had been out drowning their sorrows in the pathetic beer left, finally broke under the constant strain of Jacques optimism. They gathered together in a mob, and armed themselves to the teeth with sharp farming tools and torches. They stomped down to Jacques' house with envy and hatred poisoning their voices.
    Thankfully Jacques had heard them coming from a ways off, and tried to escape, but to no avail. He was seen fleeing, and was pursued with much vigor. Jacques ran to the only place of safety nearby, the forest. Even in their drunken stupors, the wicked townsmen knew enough not to follow Jacques into the forest, confident he would be finished off anyway. They marched back to his house and set it ablaze. They had forgotten of Jacques' parents, and set them up with the house, their screams drowned out by the crowd. The men then proceeded to loot what they could from his fields and animals, killing some of the beasts and stomping some of the harvests.
    Many weeks later, after the men realized what had happened, and several had killed themselves out of guilt, Jacques reappeared from the forest. He had dark rims around his eyes, with scratches, burns, and whip marks all over his body. He was unable to speak normally, only able to constantly babble about the red-skinned man. Jacques was taken away to a prison, where he soon died, killed by his cell-mate. Before Jacques died, he wrote in a journal all of his chaotic thoughts. The writings were very grim and melancholy, telling of the evil destructive spirit of men, and of the uncountable horrors of the world.
    Such a sad and dark tale this is, my young children. And so I must once again part, having spoken my fill. I give you a wave of my hat, and a bow from my stage, then into the dark my figure fades. But as a parting gift to you, I tell you to keep this tale near. Near to your heart, near to you mind, just always so you can hear. Hear the melancholy story of poor Jacques, once the optimist, but unavoidably drear.


    I wish you all a good night, but won't you come and visit my stage again?