Don Quixote fake chapters I made

Fake Don Quixote ending-My version

Chapter XYZ

About the windmills and and sanity

Don Quixote left the creek; a spot where a short 400 pages ago, had met Dortea, with Sancho trailing behind. Their adventurous journey was very shortly coming to an end. From castles to inns; princesses to nobles; Don Quixote's past-fun, illiterate, adventurous, quixotic, idealistic journeys had been coming to an end.

Sancho noticed while traveling with Don Quixote, on their way back home, going back through everything they came across during their first adventure, that Don Quixote's madness was slowly slipping away. Sancho didn't know how to quite feel about this. For it was just a short while ago, that he and the priest wished Don Quixote's crazy madness would disappear. Don Quixote's quixote's pretend heroism with reality intentions, seems to no longer shine.

Imaginative or Crazy? Bored or Mad? Don Quixote's quixotic self was no more than Alonso Quijono.

Don Quixote and Sancho continued to ride on to reach that small unknown village in La Mancha. Along the way they came across the windmills; once an enemy to Don Quixote. This made Sancho wince in pain of remembrance of what once was.

'Sancho!' Don Quixote rejoices. A glimmer of hope shines in Sanchos eyes thinking Don Quixote remembers. 'Look at the beautiful windmills! There's at least 10 of them. It is a breathtaking scenery.'

Sancho s heart broke as he spoke-his breath and voice shaky and trembling, like he wanted to cry- 'What do you mean Don Quixote? Aren't they giants that we observe?' He barely whispers the last sentence.

'You must be indefinitely mad, Sancho, if you are so foolish to think those are giants, and not windmills.'

'Do you not remember Don Quixote? Our adventures? Everything so crazy and wishful!'

'No I don't, Sancho.'

And with that, they rode past the windmills, not stopping for a dauntless adventure. Just like they rode past the inn, without castles and wine smashing. The creek without Dortea. The Montesano's cave; without the delusion. But most importantly, the desert. A scenery where Don Quixote was once so quixotic and delusional, was now no more than a road to travel on.

Don Quixote and Sancho traveled for a few more hours before reaching 'that small town in La Mancha.' Don Quixote who had been feeling very sick on his way home, suddenly collapsed and fell off of Rocinante. His squire quickly rushed to his side, picked him up, and brought him to his bed, Don Quixote still unconscious. After a few minutes Don woke up, but was very weak. His faithful squire; but now nothing more than a friend, feared that Don Quixote's next words would be his last.

'Don Quixote...' Sancho said. 'Do you really not remember all of our adventures together? Brave and daring you, as a helpful chivalric knight, and me,Sancho, the wise fool squire. All of our fights? All of our battles? All of our talks? And the book written about us and our journey?'

'I am very sorry Sancho. But that was old and past me. I think I might've taken things too far. In a world so cruel and hateful, selfish and unkind; being a knight- someone sworn to protect and help, to right wrongs, to always to right- seemed like a good thing to do. Even if it was all in my head and fiction; being overly imaginative distracts, and starts to make an impactful dent for better on this world. Why would I-why would anyone want to live in a world where all you see is grey and hurt?-When you could live in a vibrant fantasy where everything-if you try hard enough is perfect. Because unless someone like you and me cares a whole awful lot, things aren't going to get better. They're not. But I thought if I lived and made my idealistic world, reality, the world would be so much happier. And I apologize Sancho, for all the beatings and hurt I've caused you and to others. As you can imagine, I only ever meant good with my intentions. I think my idealistic beliefs, I took too far, trying to become reality. But I don't remember being a knight fully. I temper being so into books, and so into fixing things, that it was all in my head. That all of this is just imaginative and made form my mind. All of our adventures; in a way I wished into existence. My dreams and fantasies turned into reality because I dreamed a dream. I was not a knight. I was a knight in my mind, and you and Sanson, and all of the readers, fell for my delusions and fun. Because what's a world without creativity? But in this moment Sancho, I have the ability to make it all go away. For Don Quixote; a chivalric knight- born through illusion and deceitment- to disappear; adventures and all. If you can't fix the world, why bother. Sancho, my "squire", Don Quixote will be a memory made of conscience.'

And with that Alonso Quijono took his dying breath, Don Quixote 'A memory', escaping as a story, for a legacy.