Board Thread:Art, Stories and Songs/@comment-26062370-20150814033257

Twain, despite his old, weary frame, saunters briskly to a door. He opens it - exits to the outside, and closes it. He strolls away from the door, and onto a pier.

BRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!

The factory explodes - Many thanks to his friends, of course, who had planted the explosives.

Twain sits upon the edge of the pier, lights his cigar, and closes his eyes.

"So, what do you intend to do now?" Comes a voice.

"Well," Says Twain, tossing the cigar into the lake, "I suppose I'll get away from it all. Explore new lands, live easy, be released from the bonds that that factory brought me."

"What of your descendant - the maiden?"

"Janette? Well, she's, what _i__i__, thirty? She's an adult - I'm rather sure she can take care of herself!"

"Intriguing."

"But, that's why you are here. You'll keep intellect thriving in the land, you'll protect with your wisdom, acquired over hundreds of years - you'll protect the trains. A-and, the people."

Twain rises.

"Welp," Exclaims Twain loudly, stretching. "I'd better tell the others that I'll be going."

Twain ascends the hill, and descends it.

The man that Twain spoke to adjusts his frilled collar, and smokes his long pipe.

For the first time, in a very long time, Twain had everything in his life under control. As he looked up into the sky, for the first time in an even longer amount of time, Twain's old eyes twinkled as he smiled. 