It was a peaceful and sunny afternoon in Rainy Falls, a small village in the southern part of North Dakota, United States. There was no one in the few streets that the village consisted of. Mister Carl Johnson was sitting on his couch in front of the television. There was a football game in that he enjoyed watching, after having tended to his sheep for a full day. He was kind of tired but the game was exciting so he was still in high spirit about it. He was drinking some beers and didn’t really care for the rest of the town as things happened, so for all he cared even the city centre or church could go up in flames and nothing really mattered. As it was, everything but the television was quiet. He had been a farmer for a while now which he enjoyed being although it didn’t really bring him all the riches he desired or the fame that some of the more known artists in the USA got. He didn’t really mind although in the back of his mind he heard a voice that he was destined for greater things to achieve. The game was developing into a victory for the other team (in stead of the team he favorited). Tension was building inside his simple but wicked mind. The beers helped somewhat to keep him for getting overly annoyed. A good beer made a man like him enjoy life a bit better most of the time. He was still in his early fourties, so there was a lot of life in front of him. He had been a football player himself when he was still a student, but a career breakthrough had never happened for him. He did have an occasional girlfriend but his relationships never stabilized for longer than some months. He wasn’t bothered by it much. After his first few girlfriends broke up, he was used to the hardship of ending up alone, and he enjoyed the ease of the animal farm that came with being a sheep farmer. Now and then he met up with some friends or acquaintances since most of his inner circle found him a sympathetic and agreeable person. He wasn’t the person anymore to make trouble or commit crimes that could offend the community, so things went pretty good as he aged into an older man. Some times work could become tedious for the sheep didn’t need that much care apart from an ill example now and then. He had bought the farm a while back and as it lay in a green surrounding there wasn’t too much pollution to affect his herd. He was a happy man, although the voice in his head kept haunting him on a daily basis. As the game had reached its end, he turned off the television and went to sleep. In his dreams he had a vision of his future. He dreamt of a life full of attention of smiling happy people around him, pleasuring him with gifts and joyful exclamations. ‘Carl, you’re the best!’ and ‘Carl, you’re great!’ They shouted. He enjoyed dreaming as such, but felt a suffering sensation in his head at the same time. There were a thousand dreams possible on a night like this, but fate had decided on this dream in particular. Mr Johnson had no control over it. A thousand dreams were possible, ranging from winning the lottery, to dying, to achieving medals at the Olympics. Carl just experienced life as any other soul in the village. Everyone was connected to someone or something. In the night, outside from the village borders things seemed to be in the ordinary, just as any other year. Plants and crops were growing, and the sheep were resting, lying in the grass. A figure was moving on the road, a dark silhouet, that was exiting a car and moved itself to a fence that separated the road from the sheep in the field. The dark appearance was carrying a knife and opened the fence and moved into the field. It seemed to be a man of older age in pursuit of one of the sheep. The old guy moved into past the fence and approached one of the sheep. As he ended up near one of the older examples of sheep he hurled the knife into its neck. The old sheep was hardly aware of the event and its neck gave in like a balloon explodes from the pin point of a needle. The man hurried himself towards his car carrying the dead sheep on his back. It was a heist like it had been conducted a thousand times before. In Rainy Falls, just like every other place on earth, history seemed to repeat itself once in a decade or so. Of course, for Carl Johnson it was the first time someone stole one of his sheep. The next morning Carl went outside for another day of sheep herding. He opened the fence and stepped onto the field. A young lamb came onto to him, moving with quick feet, for young as the lambs were, they enjoyed every company of humans or fellow sheep. Carl entered the sheep area with a good mood. After a short count he discovered one sheep missing. He looked around but there was no sheep visible in a mile around. What could have happened? Was one old sheep capable of flying away or fleeing out of sight? He had read a few too many comic books in his time, but as it was he decided to reflect upon the situation a moment longer. Where do missing sheep go? Is there a heaven created by aliens where all dead organisms go? Is there a hell, besides life in the gutter, where you go when you die? For the lives of the lonely, they are lived in agonizing solitudes by those who crave eternally for good company on a daily basis. Carl thought of witches that could have taken his sheep, or was that his father who still was investigating and contemplating the secrets of the magic in life. How did the magic of the witch and the magician become reality? Where did true magic come from? Pandora’s box? The box in the attic of his mother and father? Where was his sheep now? He still had enough sheep in the field to survive this season, but there was an hiatus now that conflicted with his soul. He went outside to see if there was anyone on the road. A vehicle approached, driven by a man ten years older than Carl by the looks of it. Carl recognized the man. It was one of the villagers named Jones. He gave a hauling stop sign to see if he could get any help. Jones stopped his car, and asked with a broad smile “Hi Carl, what’s going on?” “Carl , explained himself, and asked for a ride to the police station.” The driver invited him in, but Carl thanked the man, not knowing if it was a bonafide character. The village of Rainy Falls was full of weird characters just like so many in the United States. He didn’t know the man’s name, and he didn’t have any relationship to him. It seemed his memory span was getting shorter and shorter. What else is there to say about Carl Johnson? Well, first of all he wasn’t your regular John Doe. He held several trophies in several sport disciplines and a few other areas of intellect. He used to play chess and other games, but after some time he lost interest, like so many other child prodigies and success seekers. Like Carl Johnson, they went on to spend their time unconsciously in semi-satisfactional day jobs, hoping for eternal happiness and riches. After getting rid of all their nasty habits, like drugs, alcohol and gambling, perhaps life would bring them an elderly life like the happy persons they wanted to be. The village of Rainy Falls was like an ordinary village. It consisted of a church, some grocery stores, and a larger tool and hardware store. There wasn’t much of interest apart from an old Indian museum, which attracted the occasional tourist. Like anywhere in the United States, everything was made of old history and cultural heritage of the events that had occurred in the history of the US. The village didn’t attract many visitors and so the villagers had to abide their daily routine and gossip to anything that occurred locally and to what they heard, saw and read on television, the newspaper and the internet. Rainy Falls lay around a hundred miles away from the nearest big city, where things ran in higher velocity it seemed. The city was full of young people who entertained themselves in bars and dance clubs. In summer, many of the students and so called yuppies (Young Urban Professionals) went to more exotic places abroad. During winter, those who had enough money spent the colder winter period in places like Whistler and Canada and the Caribbean. There wasn’t much to do in Rainy Falls, especially if you wanted a job or were looking for spectacular nature. There was a creek behind the church, where children played and elderly sometimes spent their afternoons and evenings to enjoy the sound of water in the creek and a conversation about weather or family. Most of the time most villagers just abided with the way things were. When the weather was fine, life in Rainy Falls was just as good as in other places on the Northern American continent. The people in church, especially the elderly, enjoyed their singing and the company of their fellow villagers. Sometimes, when nature had its way, an occasional storm would wreak havoc to the older building like the church, the wooden sheds and city hall. The old man that had taken Carl’s sheep was nowhere to be seen. Carl had gone back and was doing a thorough inspection of the fence that he had built around the sheep ground. There was not much out of the ordinary. The fence was in order and the gate hadn’t been forced. It seemed that Carl just had forgotten to lock it. The event had kind of deteriorated his mood, but as he was a man of positive instigation, he decided to let the situation be for the moment. There was another football game that interested him a bit more for now. He decided to buy a chainsaw to cut some trees later on, because he could use the wood to improve the fence. But first he would watch the game.