Hopes/Dreams

SmokeyPeanutRic was a simple man. When the day would rise, he would hope for simple things, such as a cobweb, or a new sheep in his sheep pen. However, deep within SmokeyPeanutRic's heart, lied his deepest and strongest desires. Every day, after noting

the day's events in his journal, he would tuck it away under his desk, close the drawer, and, as he was about to go to bed, he would fantasize of written books, glowing purple in the night. And there were his hopes and dreams: written books. It had been

so long since SmokeyPeanutRic had seen a written book that wasn't the product of his own hands that he had started to doubt of their very existence.