>>170
You spend a few minutes carefully converting each and every one of the sheets of paper into miniature unpiloted aircraft. You make sure to include a range of designs, from the traditional glider to more exotic shapes, including even asymmetrical ones. You feel a childlike glee as you reappropriate these dull documents into instruments of flight. For those precious moments your delusion becomes your reality, and you are able to forget your unenviable circumstances.
Once done, you launch them one at a time into the looming twilight. Finally, with the last faint light of the evening, you march out and seek the out the specimen that made it the furthest. You find one around ten metres from the launch site. The darkness is almost complete, and even if there were any further away you doubt you'd be able to find them. You unfold and try to read your new testament, this document upon which the rest of your life will rest, but alas it is too dark. Your feeble diurnally suited eyes cannot resolve the tiny, ornate letters. More troublingly, the paper is quite damp, and you suspect the ink may have begun to run.
>>171
Whyever did that blessed bird abandon you? Was it because of your misguided comments regarding free software? It was, wasn't it? Oh, cruel fate! Those traitorous words that spilled out of your mouth, light as feathers, have shackled you to a future of isolation and solitude. Your happiness - that brightest, most delicate of things - has taken wing and left, perhaps forever, and there is nothing you can do about it. You plead your case to the indifferent greyish foliage as though, somewhere out there, there might be some god with even a flicker of benevolence left listening, but your heart isn't in it.
>>172
You wish you could leave it at this, but, in some heart-lurching display of masochism, you continue to torture yourself. Struggling even to force out each word, you further expound the inherent contradictions in the very idea of free software in a world as sick as ours.
>>173
Why? What did you do to deserve this? Unable to bear the torment any longer, you throw yourself headlong into the stream. The cold, black water rushes into your mouth, causing you to splutter and pause in the midst of your tirade on the relative merits of software licences.