George the Greytown Wizard

The townspeople did not care for their town and it became untidy and run down. One night all colour left the town and it turned a dreadful grey. The people called on George to bring the colour back. He tried unsuccessfully until he met Rhiannon who was a young artist. Together they solved the problem The townspeople did not care for their town and it became untidy and run down. One night all colour left the town and it turned a dreadful grey. The people called on George to bring the colour back. He tried unsuccessfully until he met Rhiannon who was a young artist. Together they solved the problem

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about is making money. None of you love this town. Be careful,” he warneddarkly, “bad things can happen to people when they donʼt take care. ”“You donʼt frighten us with your magical double talk. Youʼre supposed to bethe magician. Why donʼt you wave your magic wand and bingo! all cleanedup. That is if you do have a magic wand,” a big fat man shouted, his faceturning red.“You are fools,” George shouted over his shoulder as he stomped off in apessimistic mood. If somebody had put a half a glass of water in front of himthat day, he would have said that the glass was half empty instead of beinghalf full. When he arrived home, he sat at his table, his head in his hands. Hisconfidence was at an all time low, yet again. At least he felt comfortable andsafe in his own kitchen. It was here that he did most of his spells.“I donʼt know why I canʼt get spells right,” he complained to himself. Lastweek George had tried to turn a green frog a bright shade of pink. The frog,who really didnʼt mind being the subject of Georgeʼs experiments, turned outto be a pale lilac.When the frog croaked, George thought it said, “you need a little more of thecranberry juice Instead of the lemon juice, and I think the flies you use areprobably not the right kind.”Instead of being pleased that he had almost managed to almost get the colourright, George sulked and said rude words to himself under his breath in hisdisappointment. If he had been a more mature wizard, he would have tried thisspell again instead of tackling one that was far more difficult. George had notlearned the wisdom of doing things again to find out where they went wrong.“I have a problem,” George sighed and told himself. “Nobody in this town isgoing to respect me until I can get spells right.”the fogThat cold winter night a poisonous fog descended on Wannabe. It was ++≠so thick and grey that it blotted out the moon. Poisonous drops fell on thetown clerk who was walking his dog along the overgrown, cracked paths thatcriss-crossed the town park.9

about is making money. None of you love this town. Be careful,” he warned

darkly, “bad things can happen to people when they donʼt take care. ”

“You donʼt frighten us with your magical double talk. Youʼre supposed to be

the magician. Why donʼt you wave your magic wand and bingo! all cleaned

up. That is if you do have a magic wand,” a big fat man shouted, his face

turning red.

“You are fools,” George shouted over his shoulder as he stomped off in a

pessimistic mood. If somebody had put a half a glass of water in front of him

that day, he would have said that the glass was half empty instead of being

half full. When he arrived home, he sat at his table, his head in his hands. His

confidence was at an all time low, yet again. At least he felt comfortable and

safe in his own kitchen. It was here that he did most of his spells.

“I donʼt know why I canʼt get spells right,” he complained to himself. Last

week George had tried to turn a green frog a bright shade of pink. The frog,

who really didnʼt mind being the subject of Georgeʼs experiments, turned out

to be a pale lilac.

When the frog croaked, George thought it said, “you need a little more of the

cranberry juice Instead of the lemon juice, and I think the flies you use are

probably not the right kind.”

Instead of being pleased that he had almost managed to almost get the colour

right, George sulked and said rude words to himself under his breath in his

disappointment. If he had been a more mature wizard, he would have tried this

spell again instead of tackling one that was far more difficult. George had not

learned the wisdom of doing things again to find out where they went wrong.

“I have a problem,” George sighed and told himself. “Nobody in this town is

going to respect me until I can get spells right.”

the fog

That cold winter night a poisonous fog descended on Wannabe. It was ++≠

so thick and grey that it blotted out the moon. Poisonous drops fell on the

town clerk who was walking his dog along the overgrown, cracked paths that

criss-crossed the town park.

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