I know a surgeon of sorts, a fellow who could mold metal into coats of armour and apply his trade into the making of fine protective suits that were expensive but never wore out. I knew him by his first name, Brooklyn and he was a fine man of all attributes. But Brooklyn was lacking a wife. Brooklyn tried and tried and soon he married a fine soul with an earring that looked like a horse. I miss her smile. I don't live anywhere near Brooklyn and I only see him irregularly and mostly without his wife too. True we have exchanged mail over the years but sadly, I miss seeing that horse earring that his wife proudly wore on Friday night and on Monday afternoon. I think she is the smartest human being he had ever met in his days of meeting ladies. She shone like a star and she read all sorts of novels and even wrote some poems and stories and novels. I never read any of her work, however because it was all published only in a small kingdom that I was not yet priviledged to visit. I knew that I had to go there, but I am but a poor and unfortunate victim of bone pain and to travel I must say I am really not able to do so without much trouble. So I may never read Brooklyns wifes poetry, but that is ok because I can see how poetic she is by her choice of earrings. In the years after Brooklyn met his wife, Brooklyn opened a new armour shop that he called "Thirteen principles of battle faith". Brooklyns business flourished and he soon opened three more stores and employed twenty more armour makers who were all trained in his techniques. Soon Brooklyn stopped making armour himself and was given the priviledge to stay home all day and take care of his children whom his wife loved very much. They had a beautiful life and they loved their daily gatherings, escapades and blessings. I wrote to Brooklyn once however and wanted him to personally make me a suit of armour becuase I found that his other workers just did not make one that really felt like it fit like the ones made by Brooklyn. You may ask why a fellow with bone pain might want a suit of armour as clearly I am not ready for the fight in battle, but that said, It did not cause me much greif to wear it once a week and it made me feel dignified. I needed a new suit. My older suit was nice but it did not fit my oversized frame anymore.
It was a year that I waited for my new suit and Brooklyn produced as usual. But this time there was a higher price tag on the item. I gladly paid the price but this was sadly not going to to be the last time I needed a new suit of armour. I was afflicted with a benign tumor that grew in my abdomen and slowly I needed to replace armour every three years or so. I did not fret for Brooklyn always came through. I soon forgot that I wished to read his wifes poetrical works and soon just became accustomed to knowning Brooklyn again only for his trade as that was our relationship. I must say that Brooklyn is a fine person and his family is bringing hope and joy to all of his friends and family. But that said, I am sadly without their blessings as I no longer have access to brooklyns happy prices that were lower in the past. It was difficult to save the money to pay his fees and I did so but only with taking out loans and paying my bills slowly over years. I soon grew tired of such expensive armour and sadly, Brooklyn and myself had no further active enterprises together. In fact it was so exciting to do business with Brooklyn that I really did not wish to sell the armour that I had acquired. It sat in my attic for thirteen years gathering dust which was no big deal. Soon one day, Brooklyns child was diagnosed with the same benign abdominal tumor that I had. I contacted Brooklyn and said I would be willing to sell his son my armour for a nice price. Brooklyn thought about it and thought about it, but somehow, owning preowned armour was just not to his best prideful ways. His children were really intelligent and special and if he had used armour, maybe they might also find that they had bone pains some day as well. I was saddened but now I had this dusty near perfect armour that I could not share with many others. The moral of this story is that there is sadness in the world and sadly I must tell you that everyone's life has a sad story. I get sad when I think of the armour in my attic that would have fit Brooklyn's son so well. It is a sad story, but at least Brooklyn's son would be a fine warrior some day and if he ever did get bone pain, there would be no armour of a previous bone pain afflicted individual to blame. I am glad Brooklyn is happy but I must say I am tired of trying to be interested in the escapades of his diligent and trustworthy child to whom I had offered my armour. It was a fine suit and actualy my bone pains were a family based condition. All of my fathers had the same condition and never did we meet another with the same affliction. I had explained this to my friend, but alas the armour sits in my attic and perhaps someday another beautiful but tumor stricken son will grace my day with whom I may share this treasure. I don't know but I hope that the world is still a happy and true place to live.
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