Once upon a time, there was a small village near the Atkinsons mountains. In there lived few families. The villagers knew each other well. They shared meals, jokes as well as sorrows and pain. The best time of the week was Sunday´s picnics. They gathered together in the woods and contemplated the beauty of nature. Laughter and joy invaded the scene.
One day, one of the families decided to make a trip to the city. They wanted to see the world. A world which was unknown to them. The departure came and so they went. When they arrived to the city, they were amazed to see all the people there were. But there was something that called the attention of these visitors, and that was the fact that people came up and down but they did not know each other. And the faces were filled with a seriousness that provoke strangeness.
As they were walking by a group of women, they heard that they were arguing on some things that some other peolpe did and they were passing judgement, and more importantly, they talk without measuring the consequences of the lack of love. They said to themselves that they had to accept others. Not matter what they did.
After a few days, this family decided to go back to the place they called HOME. As soon as they arrived, they started to tell the other villagers what they have seen in the city. They said that citizens lived differently because they did not have time to share with others, that they talked about the actions of others as if they knew everything about the other person´s life. And that what was more frustating was that the faces of these people did not have a smile. Friendliness was not around.
All the village families concluded that the way in which they lived was a bit better than the city life. Not only because they had so many things to share but also because they cared about living.
(This little "shortstory" was written by me. The place and the characters are completely fake) I am a frustated writer. Please, understand me.
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