No, of course not, it’s a football I hear you say. But let me tell you you’re wrong.
You have correctly observed that this object is a regulation size 5 football. And my toe would indeed remain unaffected if I dropped this football on my toe. But you’re still wrong.
And to see why we need to switch viewpoints. What if my question was about the football? I’ll rephrase it for you: Would this football feel pain if it collided with my toe?
Now you might still think the answer is no. But I’m sure a few of you are now thinking about what happens to the football.
This football suddenly falls from my hand, now falling is an inbuilt fear for all of us, so why not for the football?
The football falls uncontrollably towards the ground. For us this one meter fall seems like nothing, but remember that we are two meters tall. The football is only 20 centimetres tall. For the football this fall is the equivalent of you or me falling from a five story building.
While the football uncontrollably falls, it spots my toe out of the corner of its eye. The impact causes most of its mass to continue toward the ground, causing massive displacement of the internal organs. While the small area in contact with my toe has nowhere to go and takes the full crushing impact.
And now you all think that the football would be in unimaginable pain.
When I was younger there was a demon under my bed.
His voice was deep and ominous, I was four years old when I first heard it. Dad said goodnight and turned off the light. My room was pitch black and a storm raged outside. That was when I heard it.
“Hello, my name is Stewart.”
I pulled the sheet over my head as a pool of urine chilled my rear-end, but there was no-way I was moving off the bed to clean it up.
The voice spoke again, a bit softer this time, “What’s your name?”
Silence was everywhere but my head, inside thoughts shot from one side to the other. Nothing made sense, my room was empty, yet a voice spoke from under the bed.
But in the silence the voice spoke again, “Don’t be afraid, I only want to be friends.”
The voice was calm. And for some reaoson I felt I could trust it, “My name is Kevin.”
“Hello Kevin, do you like toys? I saw a car on the floor.”
The sheet came down and I took a breath. “Yes I do. I have lots of toy cars, and a race-track.”
“That’s so cool. I like red cars. They’re the best.”
“I know. My dad says that he’s gonna buy me a red car when I’m old enough, a real one. At the moment we have a white one.”
“Wow, you’re so cool! My dad doesn’t need a car.”
“Why not? My mum and dad use the car all the time.”
“What’s a mum? I only have a dad.”
“That sucks. Mums are so cool. They make food and fix things all the time. And they’re good at giving hugs.” The voice didn’t speak for a bit after that, but I liked talking to him. “Hey, what’s your name? I forgot.”
“Hello Stewart, my name is Kevin. Do want to be my friend?”
I’m writing a story, but I need a good villain.
I have some awesome main characters, but I still need a villain to complicate things. Currently my main characters are bored, they’re just living their life and nothing is happening. That needs to change.
Maybe the villain is similar to them but slightly different. Such as missing an arm that our hero’s cut-off and have hidden. I could work with that, the arm’s hidden in our hero’s house and our villain wants the entire house for complete revenge.
Now that could work. But what does my villain look like? Are they a guy or a girl, maybe both. I know I want a more intellectual villain, so they should wear glasses. Most villains tend to plan in a secret location, let’s remove the secrecy, the villain lives with the hero’s in the same house.
That sounds interesting…
“Hey kid, here’s some free advice. Never eat ice-cream. It’s not worth it.
Ice-cream is brain manipulation food. Sorry, you’re young, ice-cream controls your mind! Got it? No. Ice-cream makes you think wrong. It alters the thought trains of children, making them easy to manipulate and control.
Kids everywhere fall into this trap. It’s as though all they can think about is ice-cream. Parents all over the world use its powers. Ice-cream is the only thing that makes kids, like you, finish their dinner in peace and quiet.
It’s a conspiracy. You probably have no idea what I mean, but trust me kid, don’t eat the ice-cream. I hope goo-goo gaa-gaa means you understand.”
Once again the eyes looked down.
But the clothes she wore were ghastly. Her garmets resembled bloody shirts and torn pants. She wanted to change the world. To inspire and teach. To entertain and enrich. To love and comfort. But she couldn’t choose her clothes.
They were just words on a page.