There was a stout man, aged 43. He had a name, but you would rather not know it. This man had a family, and he was loved. His wife, also unnamed, would tell him how much she loved him every day, and he tell her the same. They both told their children that they loved them too. Touching.
Its not as though they had done anything wrong, at least not seriously wrong. That's not the point. Or maybe it is. I don't know! sheeeesh.
A fly landed next to the youngest child who accidently put their hand on it and crushed it. Not too evil most people might think.
The next day the house collapsed and everything in it was destroyed, inexplicably. Luckily the family was out at the time, at the farm. An ellipsis could have followed the word farm but you'd rather it didn't.
When the family arrived back home they noticed something was wrong. The wife got angry and went to live with her sister. The children went and stayed at their friend's house. The man sat on his home and cried.
One hundred years later, there were no ruins of the man or his family. However, there was still Rock and Roll.
The meaning of the story: 'Rock and Roll lives on!' or 'life sucks' or 'Rock and Roll sucks' or 'life lives on'. Only the last one doesnt work though...
Written age 16/17 enjoy my ex-depression guys
Written age 16/17 enjoy my ex-depression guys
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