For a good two years, Allister's nose continuously bled. The bleeding came as a surprise-as did the continuously. This left him bed-ridden. But, never one to dwell on the sore spots, Allister used the time to catch up on his reading. Eventually, he would readWar And Peace not just once but also twelve times. Each time, he finished and wondered how he reasoned himself into wasting all that time in reading the same ridiculously thick book when piles of Dickens and Hugo waited patiently in the corner, half as long and completely unread. War and Peace called to him. That is the only way he knew to explain it. He could promise himself that he would read something else. He could swear on his mother and the mothers of Dickens and Hugo, too, that he would read Oliver Twist, that he would read The Hunchback of Notre Dame. But, the truth was evident. War And Peace would not be ignored.
Was it the allure of Tolstoy or was it the thousands of typed pages completely covered with millions of small-typed, beckoning words? Allister could not say. But, through it all, Allister was sure of one thing. His nose was still bleeding. And the reading somewhat quelled the bleeding. What I mean is that it quelled the feeling of bleeding for some time. He forgot the handkerchiefs twisted into cloth daggers poking up his nostrils. For a very short while, and only in the comfortability of his distracted imagination, he was leak-free.
Doctors thought perhaps he was a hemophiliac. But, bizarre tests involving random cutting proved different. And, in a completely unexpected twist, his body was extraordinarily adept at congealing in every possible area saving his nose. And, beyond being confined to a position that allowed handkerchiefs the ability to remain in his nose, there were no side effects for alarm. With this in mind and also with charity and goodwill in mind, Allister began collecting his nose blood and donating it to local hospitals. He was referred to as The Fountain of Blood. His fountain, though helpful, soon left the hospital with barely enough room for patients. So, Allister's nose blood was exported round the world. It is quite possible that you or someone you know benefitted from Allister's nose blood. And Allister would have been pleased. It is said, even with tubes constantly up his nose, Allister seemed only in the most minute manner annoyed. And once he took up origami, this slight annoyance vanished; flown out the window and into the breeze on paper wings.
He crafted the most beautiful cranes. Only cranes. He never found the need for turtles, for serpents, for paper humans holding hands. Each crane had a distinct personality, partially due to the unique folds that come with a Monday as opposed to a Tuesday (Also the folds of a joyous Monday versus a sullen Monday and the folds of a August 21st Monday as opposed to a March 5th Monday and so on and so forth.). But, certainly, most of the originality must have come from the fact each crane was folded and birthed from its very own page of one of the finest works of Hugo and Dickens. No crane was the same because no page was the same in any of their works. This, of course, can be proved by reading any of their novels and it is even possible to cross reference Les Miserables and David Copperfield, for example, and check that no forgeries were printed between the two of them.
When finished with each novel, Allister would, one by one, cup each page-folded-into-crane in his hand and release it to the sky. He would then pick up War And Peace and give it another thousand-plus page read. This my friends is how, all at once, nose blood saved the world and aborigines began quoting Great Expectations and Hernani. We have Tolstoy and Allister to thank.
Was it the allure of Tolstoy or was it the thousands of typed pages completely covered with millions of small-typed, beckoning words? Allister could not say. But, through it all, Allister was sure of one thing. His nose was still bleeding. And the reading somewhat quelled the bleeding. What I mean is that it quelled the feeling of bleeding for some time. He forgot the handkerchiefs twisted into cloth daggers poking up his nostrils. For a very short while, and only in the comfortability of his distracted imagination, he was leak-free.
Doctors thought perhaps he was a hemophiliac. But, bizarre tests involving random cutting proved different. And, in a completely unexpected twist, his body was extraordinarily adept at congealing in every possible area saving his nose. And, beyond being confined to a position that allowed handkerchiefs the ability to remain in his nose, there were no side effects for alarm. With this in mind and also with charity and goodwill in mind, Allister began collecting his nose blood and donating it to local hospitals. He was referred to as The Fountain of Blood. His fountain, though helpful, soon left the hospital with barely enough room for patients. So, Allister's nose blood was exported round the world. It is quite possible that you or someone you know benefitted from Allister's nose blood. And Allister would have been pleased. It is said, even with tubes constantly up his nose, Allister seemed only in the most minute manner annoyed. And once he took up origami, this slight annoyance vanished; flown out the window and into the breeze on paper wings.
He crafted the most beautiful cranes. Only cranes. He never found the need for turtles, for serpents, for paper humans holding hands. Each crane had a distinct personality, partially due to the unique folds that come with a Monday as opposed to a Tuesday (Also the folds of a joyous Monday versus a sullen Monday and the folds of a August 21st Monday as opposed to a March 5th Monday and so on and so forth.). But, certainly, most of the originality must have come from the fact each crane was folded and birthed from its very own page of one of the finest works of Hugo and Dickens. No crane was the same because no page was the same in any of their works. This, of course, can be proved by reading any of their novels and it is even possible to cross reference Les Miserables and David Copperfield, for example, and check that no forgeries were printed between the two of them.
When finished with each novel, Allister would, one by one, cup each page-folded-into-crane in his hand and release it to the sky. He would then pick up War And Peace and give it another thousand-plus page read. This my friends is how, all at once, nose blood saved the world and aborigines began quoting Great Expectations and Hernani. We have Tolstoy and Allister to thank.
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