Last night, I was struggling to fall asleep so I wrote a story rather appropriately titled 'Counting Sheep'.
The first sheep walked over to the fence. It turned its head, looked around nervously, and lifted one leg over, then the other, and then the other two. As it cleared the fence, it smiled to itself, its small tail wagging with self-pride.
The second, third, fourth and fifth sheep snickered and one by one ran up to the fence and without giving it at any thought leapt over it in one graceful motion.
The sixth sheep, slower and larger, stumbled heavily to the fence and tried to emulate the previous four but got stuck on top, half its body on either side.
Sheep seven and eight ran up behind number six and began to shove with tremendous effort until the large sheep eventually fell over the other side of the fence. It looked back with gratitude before waddling off, with seven and eight having to catch their breath before jumping over.
Nine jumped with ease, and ten did the same; eleven and twelve were scared to jump alone so did it as a team. Thirteen was sure something bad was going to happen, and it did, landing on a prickle on the other side of the fence.
Fourteen through twenty jumped over like pros, and twenty-one used a key to unlock the small gate in the fence, choosing to walk through instead of jumping. Twenty-two followed suit, as did twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six and twenty-seven, with the latter closing the gate because it thought it was being polite.
Twenty-eight was annoyed it had to jump, but did so anyway; twenty-nine wasn’t going to, but did so to impress thirty, who was strong and attractive and cleared the fence better than anyone so far.
Thirty-one figured the fence was a load of crap and recruited the next eight sheep to protest the entire event. They marched in circles carrying signs that read things like “Who Is Really In Charge Of The Fence?” and “The Grass Isn’t Always Greener On The Other Side!” Forty walked up and casually pointed out that the grass actually
was greener and after a brief murmur they all rushed over the fence, their stomachs rumbling with hunger.
Forty-one picked up and threw forty-two over and forty-three did the same for forty-one. Forty-three looked to forty-four for a hand but was refused, reluctantly jumping over the fence, followed by forty-four and forty-five.
Forty-six flew over the fence in a jetpack. Forty-seven dug a deep hole and made its way up to the other side. Forty-eight simply pushed its body under the slats of the fence.
Forty-nine rode on the back of fifty. The fence itself jumped over fifty-one.
Fifty-two invented a teleport device and teleported itself and sheep up to fifty-nine to the other side.
The sixtieth sheep was large, about thirty feet tall. It rolled up to the fence and—oh, it’s made out of wood. A gift, perhaps, for the other side. The gate opened up and the large sheep rolled through, the gate closing behind. A few seconds passed before, oh my god, the bottom of the wooden sheep opened up, with forty sheep rushing out from inside.
Finally, I caught up. I leaned against the fence, lungs grasping for air. Looking over the other side, I saw the hundred sheep I mistakenly bought, running across the meadow. I lifted myself up over the fence, cursing the persuasiveness of the shepherd I had met a few hours prior.
