The sheep lived on a plot of land that was sparsly covered in dried grass and weeds. It was enough to sustain them, yet they were all gaunt with hunger for better things. A white picket fence separated them from their dreams. From atop the hill in their pasture, they could catch stolen glimpses of what they yearned for. Green, rolling hills littered with clover and other goods. Fruit trees, heavily laden with the succulent pulp of apples, oranges and grapes. The point is, there was this great place that they didn't have the courage to get to.
Every afternoon the shepherd would sneak away from the flock and open the gate in the white picket fence. The gate was quite simple and any half-wit sheep could have figured it out. They would have, but the shepherd had the sheep convinced that they had an inferior intelligence when that was not the case at all. Anyway, the shepherd would go to the lush meadow and feast on the fruit and drink the fresh water. Basically, he partied every night while the sheep cowered in fear of disobeying while they hid from the imaginary horrors they were taught to fear.
Every night, the shepherd would return, his hands sticky from the excursion. On occasion, he would accidentally leave the gate open, but the sheep were too afraid to cross the threshold.
The sheep fought amongst themselves, frustrated with wanting what they couldn't have. None ever stopped to realize that it was the shepherd who was keeping them from their dreams. They were too preoccupied with what they had been told all their life that they never stopped to wonder if it was the truth.
