The old man walked into the stone wall. He did not expect to emerge from it, but there he was—stumbling out of a large stone wall with a look of surprise on his face.
“What? How did I get here?” he asked aloud. “I was just walking down the street and then… it happened.”
The old man looked around and saw that he was standing in a field of flowers, surrounded by large stone walls that stretched as far as he could see in all directions. “Strange,” he muttered to himself. “Where am I?”
Just then, an enormous creature emerged from one of the walls and began walking towards him slowly. The old man stood still and stared at it as it approached him slowly until finally reaching him and circling around him slowly before stopping in front of him again. It had many eyes on its head and three long tentacles sprouting from its mouth area; it also had four legs that ended in sharp points which were currently resting on top of a large boulder next to them both! This creature seemed very strange indeed!
The old man thought about what kind of creature this could be; could it be another human? Could it
The old man was not happy.
He was not happy because he had been stuck in the same place for so long that he had forgotten what it felt like to be free. He was not free, and he did not know how to get out. He did not know where he was or who he was or even if he existed at all. So he sat there and waited, hoping someone would come along and help him.
But no one ever came.
There was once a young man who lived in the woods. He was not old, and he knew nothing of the world beyond his canopy of trees.
He was happy, though—until one day, an old man emerged from a large stone wall.
"Where did you come from?" asked the young man. He was afraid of this strange visitor, with his wrinkled skin and white hair.
"Why do you ask?" said the old man. "Do you think I am not from here?"
"No," said the young man quickly, "I mean yes." He felt silly for asking such a question of such an elder person and tried to change the subject quickly so he wouldn't be embarrassed anymore than he already was by having been caught staring at the old man's strange appearance without saying anything at all about it first or asking permission first either before doing so either as well before doing so either as well because that would have been rude too even though it wasn't polite either just rude instead but then again maybe not rude either because there isn't really anything wrong with rudeness if
On the other side of the wall, there was a man. He was old, so old that he had lived through many generations of people and events. He had seen great empires rise and fall, had witnessed wars waged across the land, and had seen kingdoms rise from ashes. He had seen kings come and go; he'd watched them be born and die, watched them rule in their glory, watched them crumble under their own weight.
The man sat on a stone bench near an old oak tree that had been around since before he was born. It was always there for him; it had never left him. It was one of the only things that he could count on in this world full of so many uncertainties. It was one thing that would never change—not even if the world were to end tomorrow morning. The oak tree would still be there, stoic and strong as ever before—and so would he.
This day was no different than any other day: gray clouds hung low in the sky; birds twittered high above him on branches; squirrels ran about busily gathering nuts for winter; bees buzzed about collecting pollen from flowers; a young couple walked along hand-in-hand—laughing at jokes they'd heard
The old man emerged from the stone wall, his face covered in dust and grime. He looked up at the sky, squinted at the sun, and then looked around.
"Hello?" he called out. "Is anyone here? I'd like to get home."
"Who are you?" came a voice from behind him. He turned around to see a beautiful woman standing there. She had long blond hair and a delicate face that looked as if it should have belonged on a china doll.
"Oh! Hello!" said the old man with a smile. "My name is Arthur."
"Arthur who?" asked the woman curiously.
"Arthur… Schmendrick," replied Arthur Schmendrick with a shrug of his shoulders as if this should be obvious. "And who might you be?"
The woman laughed merrily at this question before answering, "I am Amorette."