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(01)

Have you heard the tale of the Story teller ?

He was a child then. He remembers going to see the old man. His beard old and becoming unkept. The books covered in dust and the walls echo the silence of loneliness. No one comes to see the story teller anymore he said. The fairy tales forgotten, the stories of knights and queens drowned in the sorrow of Corruption. You see, that’s where They take hold. At the end of the story and before the beginning. In that moment of grief where we are lost. At the end of an orgasm, or the end of a joke. That place where the ‘Field’ dissipates, like where the sunlight can travel no more from its radiance. This is where They hook the conversation. By grasping back in fear, This is where they began their want for significance. And Their story Always ends with destruction.

Have you come for a story he asked the child ? There are many tales. Tales of triumph, tales of woe, tales you’d rather stump your toe. He could feel a desperation in the old man, he was being forgotten and this he knew would be his last spark.

The child asked for a story of dragons and unicorns, of vampires and fairies, of science and time travel. He asked for the story of the wind and the trees and the ants and the spiders. He asked for the story, where War ended and life continues,

The old man pottered around his shelves. The piles of books on his desk had been long forgotten. He was a little confused and worried, this is not a story he had told. The child, a little concerned that he maybe overburdening the wonderful man thought perhaps he should leave.

Oh, the old man said. I have just the book as the dust fell away. He had never read this story before. It had always concerned, and shied him away. A book so old and forgotten, that it’s story had never been spoken.

So began the story of the Author.

And if you remember the story. Then maybe it will be told.