The Island is a busy place, always moving, always changing, always a Rook wandering in when there's explosions or wildebeests running rampant and going unnoticed in the general hubbub. 

Of course, the stories still happen. Elsewhere, you could ask yourself, if a tree falls in a forest and nobody's around to hear it, does it still make a noise? Here, you know it does; the only question is, was it the noise a tree falling in the forest OUGHT to make, or was it something else entirely?

And sometimes the tree gets right back up again and moves off somewhere where it can be sure someone does hear it. But this is entirely off the subject. What we are here to tell you about, my compatriots and I, are the stories that you haven't seen, the lives you haven't noticed. 

Like [[the bear and slim pickens|this one]].