…and on the 8th day, micro fiction was published on some dude's blog.


Herbert waddled away, fuming, and wondered why he even bothered any more.

He was tired of these Council meetings that always played out the exact same way: Herbert would bring up all manner of ideas and suggestions, things he’d thought carefully about and into which he had poured his heart, only to have every single one of them shot down by the Council without even an attempt at a¬†discussion.

He was tired of it all. Tired of trying, in vain, to make a difference.

He was outnumbered, the only pig in a stable full of horses, and he’d now resigned himself to the fact that as long as that was true, he would always get the same response to ANY suggestion he offered: “The neighs have it.”

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