The point clearly should have it’s obituary in every newspaper when you consider just how missed it is. However this coming incoherent ramble is not about that point at all, rather the point of a rather rusty spear in the Museum of Very Rusty things, which. at the time of writing, is about to drop off.
It is tired, you see, of being unappreciated. Once it was looked after in a careful and considerate manner, its owner appreciating the fact that it stopped angry men with other weapons from making unwanted introductions. Then it had been carefully kept in tip-top tip condition, and was not just left to gently rust in a museum that no one, not even the curator, visited. The suit of armour it lent against pointed out that it too was hardly looked after – the shoulder in particular having almost rusted into nothingness, but that was besides the point.
In final frustration it decided that, despite being so rusty as to be unable to slice air without difficulty, it would do it’s best to kill the next human to come near it, settling on tetanus as the most likely option. Dropping of the shaft should get it picked up, it decided, and then it has a chance – minuscule as it is – of getting something into the unsuspecting humans bloodstream.
All it has to do then is wait for someone to actually come to the Museum of Very Rusty Things.