An empthasis on any positive proceeding was frequently outbursted by the local villagers who wanted others to feel the same positive feeling in defence of a neglectful absence of assurance. The water on the lake drizzled it's few drips, the people who walked by it left it with no concern, their only reaction to look at it with awe and wonder if they had the compassion to do so and then go home. It was simply apart of the way everyrhing was, just like one's breath is a natural order of the way things are to be, to keep everyone healthy and safe inside. One man, by the name of Dr. Alberton Junior, a solicitor of the highest order, was the one that went to the lake in the village the most frequently with an astoundingly curious sense of the seek of continous knowledge of all the patterns from the thickened grass to something of simplicity as much as a few drips of liquid. Dr. Alberton stood by staring for hours and hours, from sun to moon and day to night. What he wasn't in expectation of and therefore was severley unaware of a cruel reality relating to a historical preference of illusions within the mind that could bring him back to an elusively vivid memory, one of peculiar outcomes, was that the lake had as much a mind of it's own as did him. This is what he felt, in almost an occurrence of immediate knowledge, one that blended a real mix of passionate ignorance, was that the lake was simply passed on or passed away by the people that passed it which he found concerningly rude and...