You roll over again and pray your sheeps will soon meet a sudden and violent end. \n\nYesterday you ate some food from your fridge and went to the town. After such a hard days work you would have liked the extra sleep, and not the extra sheep. You laugh to yourself and make a mental note to remember to write that down.\n\nA sheep has come up to your window and is butting its horn against the glass. The last time this happened you had been asleep until it started that and had scared the everloving shit out of you, especially after watching The Ring in high quality. That sheep was the one to die that month. But it took your dignity with it to sheep hell, as you keep your crowbar underneath your bed since then, in case it isn't a sheep knocking next time.\n\nThis time you know it is a sheep, because you are sitting up and giving it the most devastating torturous death stare you have ever store. Store? Stared? Store sounds better, it reminds you of the mythical god of thunder Thor, and you personally think...\n\nIn your mental tangent your steel-like gaze melts to a Jaden Smith mildy upset forhead crease and the sheep continues to butt it's head against your home, hopefully in an attempt to kill itself.\n\nYou promptly take control of the situation by carefully and systematically [[smashing your crowbar through the window and into the sheep's face.|Page 3 (b)]]

You tear your hungry heart away from the glowing oven of wonder and decide material items that will soon be lifted from your neighbour's home are far more important than sustinence.\n\nFood, you decide apon reflection, also counts as material items. In a rash and hasty moment of shame and feverishness, you do indeed what everyone thought you would anyway and grab onto the scalding hot pie, hoping to cradle it with love before devouring it, but instead slamming it on the table and notice the searing pain within your palms and fingers.\n\nYou rush to the sink and dunk your hands into the disgusting dishwater, only to see it as the water of life itself as your wounds soothe a bit. You wonder if whiskey, having earned that title too, had the same effect. You wonder if you would grow four hands and benefit from twice the theftability.\n\nYour last thoughts run to Dr. Octagonapus and his gracious lifestyle as a baseball bat swung by an infant plants itself [[firmly in the corner of your skull.|Page 8]]

El Klepto

You are in pain but alive. For a split second you realise this is what that ugly ass sheep felt when you smashed the crowbar in its stupid face and you feel a bit mean for doing it but instantly forget about it as you stand up from the floor.\n\nBrushing glass off of your coat and realising your headphones are still on, you take them off and hear a small child screaming from upstairs.\n\nYou decide it's probably best to ignore it, at least until the end of this page.\n\nLooking around the kitchen you decide you should take everything in their fridge and make a vague attempt to forge evidence of mice in the house. Everything smells delicious and your stomach groans loudly.\n\nYou look into the window of the oven.\n\nYou open the oven.\n\nTHERE IS A PIE IN THE OVEN.\n\nDo you [[Take it for what it is, who it was meant to be?|Page 7 (a)]] Or do you [[Leave it, alone and suffering in the darkness.|Page 7 (b)]]

You roll over again and pray your sheeps will soon meet a sudden and violent end. \n\nYou have a mild feeling of déja vu.\n\nA sheep has come up to your broken window and is butting its horn against the rest of the glass. The last time this happened you had been asleep until it started that and had scared the everloving shit out of you, especially after watching The Ring in high quality. That sheep was the one to die that month. But it took your dignity with it to sheep hell, as you keep your crowbar underneath your bed since then, in case it isn't a sheep knocking next time.\n\nThis time you know it is a sheep, because you are sitting up and giving it the most devastating torturous death stare you have ever store. Store? Stared? Store sounds better, it reminds you of the mythical god of thunder Thor, and you personally think...\n\nIn your mental tangent your steel-like gaze melts to a Jaden Smith mildy upset forhead crease and the sheep continues to butt it's head against your home, hopefully in an attempt to kill itself.\n\nYou promptly take control of the situation by carefully and systematically [[throwing your crowbar through the broken window and into the sheep's face.|Page 3 (b)]]

You stupidly take the pie and burn your hands on it. How you could you be so foolish, making a decision like that.\n\nYou manage to put the pie to the safety of the kitchen counter. The floor will not be getting its just desserts today. However the loss of your hands' usability dissettles you, as well as the fact that the child has stopped making alarmed noise. This would be convienient if it didn't mean the possibility of the child hiding or looking for you. Or calling the guards. And you don't really feel like sharing this delicacy you've been mortally wounded for, anyway.\n\nYou'd love to be able to play some funky music, white boy, on your headphones, but they aren't connected up to anything except eachother. It would certainly comfort the situation for you, as you are in pain relatively everywhere and unable to grasp everything which you are dying to do.\n\nThe next best move is to stick your hands into the fridge. There is a bowl of mashed potatoes in front and you waste no time in shoving your hands directly into your creamy culture. Pure Irish culture, right in a bowl. You appreciate it's soothing ability and also the stronger connection you now feel with your country.\n\nThe strongest connection you feel, however, is a baseball bat striking your skull by the hands of an infant. The last thought that runs through your head before you fall unconscious is you wonder [[if you really can bake blackbirds into pies.|Page 8]]

Name?\n\nYou've gone by El Klepto for years.\n\nYou've gone by El Klepto for years because, as everyone knows, you are a flourishing kleptomaniac and noone wants to invite you to parties anymore since you decided that Jason's grandmother's ashes were worth more than your social credibility.\n\nThis is fine because you invision yourself as a makeshift ninja, stealing scraps of pointless shit since you could navigate your fingers. You idolize anti-hero theives and ninjas from comic books and none of them have any peers to be peering into things they shouldn't.\n\nYou don't deny that you are on the lowest tier of said ninjas, as you don't fight crime with samurai swords or destroy the economy with one fell swoop. But one day you will be the very best, like noone ever was.\n\nYou live on a farm in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of Ireland. You get pretty lonely, but you don't really ever mind, except when all the sheep that live in the field screech and yell every time the wind blows the bushes, in which case you wish you were deaf instead.\n\nYou homeschool yourself thanks to the great educational expanses of the internet at your very fingertips. However the schooling must be done from your neighbour's shed (about 2 miles down the road) taking advantage of their wi-fi. This is a small price to pay as the last time you attended school you remember the heavy smell of cigarettes coming from the teacher's lounge, teenagers throwing glass and stink bombs into the playground and all the children being terribly upset all the time. You also get to decide what to teach yourself, so rather than wasting time with poetry and algebra, you can sit under the paint shelf and focus on the really important things, like learning how to play instruments you don't own. \n\nOnce, their 5-year-old-or-so child walked in apon you studying the fine literary contents of Fanfiction.net, on the laptop that had mysteriously gone missing from the next house over, and ran inside for help from the parents. Instead of running for the hills you decided to peek in the window of the house to see the family reaction.\n\nMaybe they would adopt you as the new family dog, you knew it was dead as it was hit by a car whilst chasing a cat. You feel it got what it deserved, and you would be a fine replacement for the position. You were going to wait a while longer to pitch a speech or a powerpoint or something to them; they probably didn't know Rusty had passed because you took the body after the coast was clear and buried it outside your bedroom window to ward of the sheep with a warning of death. You didn't realise dead things were fantastic soil fertiliser.\n\nAlas, they remained seated watching the latest episode of something, as apparently children have less credibility than even you. \n\nThat was the most recent human interaction you've had. The one before that was a more than awkward phone call from your extremely rich and successful astronaut brother in Toronto, Canada, which you ended quickly by explaining your chronic fear of low temperatures was interfering with your ability to hold up a conversation with such a cold-hearted cuntface and hanging up, fist-pumping the air for a while afterwards because of how cool you sounded, you're sure his life has finally been turned upside down from that sick burn you just dealt. You proceeded to blast Eminem songs for the next hour and a half.\n\nAs anyone could see, you are a very complex and interesting person. You are the main character of your very own story.\n\nLike many main characters, your life sucks.\n\nDo you still want to [[begin?|Page 1]]

4:23pm\nNeighbour's shed, Under the paint shelf\nWednesday or less.\n\nYou have fashioned yourself a set of headphones. You did this by stealing a pair of speakers, taping them to a wire and balancing them on your relatively square-shaped human skull. Seeing as they were seperate devices to begin with, you have needed to master the art of quickly clicking play on whatever you wish to listen to, on both ears. You don't mind as much as you did when you discovered this, as while you were in a coffee shop next door to the 'generic punk teenage girl who is going through a phase but won't know it until it's embarrassing' accessorie shop which you stole the speakers from, the guy working the register walked in and spotted you crafting. Out of respect for your stunningly creative integrity, (but not really, just the fact you managed to snatch them unnoticed) he buys a coffee and goes out with his friends for his lunch break. He'll probably be talking about how awesomely cool you are.\n\nNow you are listening to all the latest hit songs, which you could just listen to on the radio anyway, but that would require you to be home and trying to decipher what was music and what was sheep noise, which is surprisingly difficult.\n\nThere is a car outside beeping.\n\nYou wish you owned a car and could drive, then you could get a custom horn sound and it would play smooth jazz and calm everyone down. Everybody seems so angry driving cars. Especially the woman who ran over that dog that time.\n\nThe car is still beeping, very obnoxiously. You peek out the window of the shed even though you can't see the car as it is in front of the house. The parents (you still don't know their names) are putting on coats to leave. You want to ask if you can go too, but they are probably going on a date. Maybe next time they'll invite you.\n\nOn a whim, the moment they close the car door out front you do a very much [[parkour crash through the fucking window of their kitchen like a badass|Page 6]]

4:23am\nHome, In bed\nTuesday and/or Thursday, you haven't updated your calender since March.\n\nThe sheep are screaming again. You are contemplating writing a novel on how sheep are the perfect metaphor for mindless followers, whoever came up with the analogy was a genius. Your extensive experience with sheep need only be your source material, they do exactly the same thing everytime the wind blows the bushes. One little lamb starts whimpering, and next thing you know the field is ablaze with what sounds like a death metal concert.\n\nYou wish they had the same idea with other parts of their day. Every now and then you have to kill a sheep to eat. Up until the recent fire almost-accident, you were very creative with how to get them. Now you just use the crowbar you stole from the neighbour's shed. You find it merciful, so you can't understand why the sheep don't set up a system where the fattest one will be sacrificed to defend the herd from your deadly hands. You have a good economy set up, as you sell their wool and kill one every once in a while, and they get to live in your field. A true 'everyone wins' system. The dude who invented government is surely proud. Then again, if animals get into capitalism, everything is fucked.\n\nYou see the sun coming up and [[decide to get up|Page 2 (a)]] or [[try and sleep.|Page 2 (b)]]

Your crowbar deals a fairly devastating blow to the sheep and your window and the grassy dog-mound on its journey, spraying broken glass everywhere and upsetting the other sheep.\n\nIf this one is dead, you think you will cook it and eat it for breakfast in front of the other sheep to set an example. You should be a teacher as you think this method of instilling fear would work well with school's institutionalisation aims. You aren't an expert in anything though, except for killing sheep.\n\nYou get up and go outside to fetch the crowbar and hopefully dead or mortally wounded body of the demon.\n\nIt's blood is everywhere but you underestimate the thickness of a sheep's skull, as it has stumbled away to the rest of it's cronies. You think about cleaning up the glass but decide that it could act as another defence mechanism, as well as if the sheep stop to eat the grass they will be sorely unhappy with the results.\n\nYou really, really dislike sheep.\n\n\nMaybe you should just [[skip to to tomorrow.|Page 5]]

Aslan

Kitchen\n\nYour fridge is stocked with the widest variety of cheap tasteless porrige, tv dinners and microwave Full Irish Breakfasts. You once stumbled apon a County Market and had a food-nicking field day. You even got some cinnamon for the stolen pancake and crépe mix for the stolen crépe machine or the stolen frying pan. That was the best day. They don't hold them around the area anymore, though.\n\nSometimes, when you feel as daring as you do now, you combine said fridge items only to immediately regret it later. The only pro of going down this road is the ability to fend off people in the crowded town streets in a nice neat radius.\n\nYou don't have plans for going into the nearest town today, but it is often a spur of the moment action to do so anyway. The last time you did you felt very impulsive, so you snatched a stick of candy-floss from a young boy, claiming it was poisonous and needed to be destroyed immmediately. Sweet-stealing from minors is no walk in the park, you found, as there was a lot of crying and screaming and his mother punched you in the face. You retaliated by going in for a punch, but instead lightly meshed the pink swathe into her face and jammed the stick far, far up her nose and ran away. You think that they probably sympathise with your situation though, so you might re-visit the scene today.\n\nYou are so lost in sweet nostalgia that you forget that you are vacantly staring into the fridge. Reality slaps you in the face as your stomach rumbles.\n\nDo you want to [[eat something?|Page 3 (a)]]

You eventually re-heat some porridge and have yourself a not even remotely nutritious delicious breakfast.\n\nYou decide you will go into town today to pet some dogs and sneak into shops you've been banned from. You put on a coat and get ready for an [[extremely early morning on the town.|https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4txVqr1eNwc]]\n\n\n\n...Alright, you haven't advanced to being a truly Cool Guy on a Chill Day. One day you will understand popularity and be able to master it to your will.\n\nInstead, you find all of the shops closed. You have an exceedingly boring walk around and wonder when the actual story will start. You see a cat.\n\nYou take a bus home and for once pay for something, as the driver also has a particular distaste for sheep. He is more interested in the metaphorical kind, and talks a lot about terrorists, the government and conspiracies. He nearly forgot he was driving the bus when going on a tangent about Orge Georwell.\n\nYou get home and go to bed again. The sheep are still being moderately [[loud|Page 4 (a)]]\n\n

The child has a good arm.\n\nYou wake to find yourself in the 21st century's most terrifying situation - in the back of a van.\n\nThe cramped-ish van is thankfully not filled with other bodies, except for the driver in the front who is keeping the van to a thumping pace with his shitty taste in music. It is stuffed with boxes of sorts, however. Perhaps they didn't realise you had the inept ability of awakening at random hours, which has come in handy for once in it's torturous existence. You feel for any sizeable dents in your head, but only find a pulsating lump instead, which is probably preferable.\n\nYour aching head protests as you sit up to look around, and your senses are hit with a heavy smell of cigarette smoke. You suddenly assume you are in a George Orwell-esque story where you are being taken to an institution to be forced through re-education (although considering you never recieved the formal kind, or any kind, you can drop the 're-') only to be publicly excecuted for crimes against the pie-lords. \n\nYou tap on the little window to the front portion of the van, where the driver resides, to plead your case, however he only looks back at you and shows you two fingers to think about. You slump down to accept your fate at whatever animal farm you're being taken to, when you realise that the man was actually wearing a Gardaí uniform. Your future is a little less daunting.\n\nYou must find a way to escape.\n\nYour handy crowbar has been reprimanded, however, your pockets filled with aquired goods seem to not have been looted.