Riddle

The omen was clear. The black dog left its defecation from the first step outside to the last gate of the house, but the entirety of the lot had to leave. Walking past the ruffling trees carried away by the wind, the entirety of the being had prepared. The fear was blatant, but movement has to be done. The morning was filled with gloom. The alliance of nature to the deed was negative. Reaching the gate, the filth left by the dog was exposing its purpose. The wholeness went out and followed the directive of the mind.

The first stop was nothing.

The second stop was graphic and promising. By the natural street, behold a stern man. The man was serious. He held his hands together, holding something, on his back. Without any movements and riddles, he told the secret with a warning as to how harm could submit once touched. He let us pass his way.

We did not feel any fatigue. By the bay stood a tent depending on a wall filled with artistic grafitti. As seen, the diary was on top of it. In impulsive transgression, a companion tried to get it, but failed in attempt as the tent was breaking down into parts, further misplacing the disposition. With this, another one jumped, lighter than the other, and was successful. It was then that as it was grasped, the interest disappeared. In the end, it was a facade.

The last was a ball, where wrath was obligated. It was then that an unfamiliar market was reached. Others minding designated functions, breathing and sharing the environment, distorted the mission. Once again, it was on top of the wall, perfectly on top of a slaughterhouse. It was then realized that the only one capable of achieving the object was the unknown idiot.

There were several trials of acquisition and in the end, it was the true riddle. It was still unknown, yet to be known. It was a wasted reprise.