of History

There's this guy who lives in a village, right? He has a lot of friends, And they all grow up. And they all left to different places, except for one guy, He just sorta sat around in the middle of the village. and some came back, for a visit or forever, and and they told their stories to the guy who didn't leave. So one of them had been a farmer. And other had been a destroyer captain. And one more traveled to the stars. Eventually they'd all come back, except one. The guy in the village grew lonely. There were no more stories being told. And he waited and waited for the next one to come home. The others died or left and still he waited. And thirty years, thirty long lonely years, of waiting the last one came. And the guy asked him, surly were you gone so long? "You were the closest, only a mile away, and yest, you did not come until now." And the last guy leaned close and whispered, in his ear. And they guy who had stayed whithered away, or he had been planted forty years ago to listen to the stories of that generation and not, his purpose fulfilled he asked, and all that remained was his bark, covered with every story he had every heard, And the last guy wept, for he had loved the thee more than any of the others. To keep it alive those many years. THE END