Buffoons. Fighting because we can buffoons. Perhaps buffoon was a misnomer for balloon, as you must be an airhead to do such a thing. That is how I see it. Save your energy for the real enemy, those who hold so much power. Again I chant my word against the fawns upon the world, as I seem to be the only one who sees what lies beneath their cold beady eyes. Do not look to long in them, as you will soon find yourself amongst more.

I awoke again from the eternal darkness some ways away from my friend the idol where I normally fade into sleep. I was in the other place of solace in this wood where birch trees grew to great heights and little delicate flowers where just high enough to tickle your nose. Sitting there a moment I pondered where to go, though I was drawn back to my place of comfort and loneliness. Instead my feet carried me to the pond, its reflection soulless and empty upon arrival. Such odd healing waters, washing away thirst and your identity all at once. One foul step and you tumbled in to be swallowed up.

Today was not a day of drinking, however, and I could hear echoes of activity through the woods. It was a special echo, one that denoted that it came from the old ruins. Such echoes had a dry and sharp ring to it, often being as harsh upon the ears as a fawn's cry. It seemed in my absence my home had become more populated and welcoming. I would have to put on my mean birch tree face to fix it. So my feet drew me forward with a heavy snort billowing from my nostrils. If I was to sleep peacefully in the void, I was to ensure that all were driven away.

That was when I came upon the balloon buffoons fighting amongst themselves like children, and over what? I never did bother to find out. Knowing that they would drive themselves away in their own foolishness. Buffoons. Something caught the corner of my eye, a flash of green much to bright for the forest.