Draft #1: Seagulls swarmed around the fishing port, the docks filled with busy merchants and the clink of chain against chain. Uplifting currents sent light-weighted feathers off of shop stands and blew them across the seas, all the way to Dornman Port. Just as a strong-armed man was about to catch a brightly-jeweled feather, a seagull which followed along bit into his right arm, its stinging bite leaving a swollen mark on the man’s bulky bicep. Various different sizes of tiny holes broke into the muscle, bleeding out dark-colored red blood at a slow-yet-fast rate. Yellowish liquids poured out as well, grasping at any red substance that it could- desperate to find a ‘safer’ place to stay. The man did not scream. Nor did his eyes widen in shock in horror-though those around him did. Instead, his jagged eyes narrowed down and glared into the seabird’s steady, neutral ones. And a second later, he swatted at the seagull in a continuous pattern and kept moving forward, hoping to knock it straight into the ocean and let it drown. He even managed to strike it multiple times. He then punched the poor bird out of the air, itself falling in a downward spiral -which defied gravity- right into a group of brightly-colored fish. A tiny, upwards splash was left in its depart, its aftermath making any visible view of flapping fins disappear. An elderly trio of siblings walk up to the man. The eldest woman spoke,
“Was that a superiorly necessary movement required to be completed? This treacherous task was not to be found in your master’s Unrefined List of Needs”.
“Perhaps you could find a consultant to figure out this situation? It is an utterly petty and useless upbringing to be brought to legitimate court, so a decades-renowned adviser would certainly be helpful, would it not?” The middle sibling suggested, his face an expression of sincerity.
“Hasre is speaking a nibble of information that includes much-needed correction.” The third sibling said, a 73 y/o woman.
