Goal of the day: 649 words. Written: 187.
Every century, the body of John the Giant was different. John was already an old giant, wrinkled like a rotting potato and as tall as the tops of the clouds. And despite the fact that it has been standing here for ages - for those who have lived longer, like us - it has become obvious that it is getting old.
First, he sat leaning against the brim of Napoleon's hat as if on a throne. He received visitors, stroked them, scratched the backs of cows and chased away bandits from villages.
Then he leaned forward. She closed her eyes.
He rarely opened his eyes. Slowly... And immediately he closed his vision holes again.
His movements slowed. Shrunk.. decreased. With…
What was perhaps the saddest thing, the giant John was now speechless. More precisely, he spoke very slowly and not much.
Jonah the Giant used to catch the eye of all who passed by, but now, instead of getting out of the car and meeting a legend of wisdom and strength, they met a slow-moving sage. Maybe not bad, but not at all what you expect.
John the Giant.
Oh, John the Giant.
Even the newspapers didn't write anything about him anymore, giving way to criminal news and another joke made by some politician or cosmonaut.
Giant John sat and slowly growled. Probably literally, because he now smelled of valerian and chamomile.
Giant John is sinking...
…Sinking…
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Good night, giant John.
good night
Good night.