My sword was the quicker, it seemed.

Before he could even raise his, mine had passed through his skull, spilling out what I’m almost sure was a world of ideas.

That or pea soup. There’s a small chance it could have been pea soup. Of course, why this man would carry soup around inside his head was beyond me.

Anyway, no point dwelling on that. I had enough to worry about as it was. See, I had a sword positively dripping in ideas (or pea soup), and no idea what to do with it.

I could put it back into its scabbard, but I’d have to clean it first. You don’t want perfectly good ideas sloshing around in a wooden scabbard. Might rust the steel of your blade. Same with pea soup, really.

Then there was the fact that I’d have to wipe off what was likely a multitude of fantastic ideas. I mean, if it was pea soup, then no loss, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. I think.

Either way, someone could definitely use these ideas for something.

And that’s when an idea struck me. I could sell them off to someone!

So I set about preparing to do just that. Made a sign and everything:

WORLD OF IDEAS FOR TRADE
(MIGHT ACTUALLY BE PEA SOUP)

Most people didn’t take me seriously, though. Apparently walking around brandishing a sword covered in someone else’s whole worldview gets you some odd looks. And a few screams.

A few people fainted.

I was tempted a moment to take their ideas too, but then they might get all mingled, and if someone faints at the sight of someone else’s ideas, then they probably don’t have much of worth kicking around in their heads anyway.

At length, I thankfully found a buyer. Some guy on the street. He traded me some coins and wooden trinkets he’d carved.

So with my thanks, I rammed the blade into his heart and left it. After all, ideas take the best shape when planted into the heart rather than the mind.

You plant ideas into the mind, and you overthink them to the point where you have these poor misshapen things with no soul. So the heart it was. Lucky chap.

Apparently some people misinterpreted my gracious act as heinous murder, so I had to fly away.

Hard to fly when you’re in a bird cage, though. Especially one as dismally built as this one.

Seriously, who builds bird cages out of stone?

Comments? Questions? Outright condemnations? Leave them below! Also, share this nonsense around. All proceeds from this story go toward determining once and for all how a world of ideas differs from a bowl of pea soup. Really.