Is this world ending because you have consumed all tales, or are you here consuming tales because the world is ending? Have all stories got lost forever? Did all our fables become the same?
Convinced that the world is going to end soon, a paranoid and drunk writer begins to tell his cat tales.
Tall tales, true tales.
Fables of compassion and greed, destruction and creation, loss and search.
The stories come tumbling out of his mouth – historical, mythological, political, allegorical, modern versions of Sindbad, Ali Baba and Aladdin . . .
Like the Scheherazade of yore, eager to save her life and that of a thousand other women, is the writer able to save his and others’ world from its self-made disasters?
Do all tales really end here? or do they only begin?
The answers are, perhaps, Two Thousand and Twelve.
Once there lived a man who grew rich through his hard work and industry. His parents gave him a good education and he made worthy use of it. He went to the best business school, laboured hard and earned a prestigious degree. He was snapped up by the sharpest corporate head-hunter and recruited to the largest company with a hefty initial salary (or ‘package’, as it is called). His name was Abdullah.
His parents died, one soon after the other, but he put his shoulder to the wheel and kept working hard. There was nothing else for him. His only dream was to make it to the top of the ladder and become rich. He dreamed of starting his own company one day, entering the Forbes 500 list, and even becoming the richest and most powerful man in the world. For this, he continued to work hard and to ring in the numbers.