The Art of Storytelling

Imagine darkness. You, in the centre of a black mass, no sound, no sight, no substance. You try to speak, but instead of hearing your voice, white words flow out of your mouth, and settle below you. Hesitating, you stoop over to pick them up. You find that you can mold them, twist them, and put them where you want.

            Surprised, you begin using your words to weave life into the abyss. At first, they swirl around you like snow caught in a gust, slapping your ankles and blowing away into that infinite blackness. Frustrated, you look helplessly into the dark, overcome by the task you want to accomplish.

            You try again, and again.

            Soon, something starts happening. You find you can knot and entwine your words to create buildings and color, water and people. Life takes off around you, as full and busy as if it always existed.

            Soon, you forget the shadow, you are too caught up in the world about you, helping the hero’s and slaying the bad guys … even if you did feel a certain fondness towards them.

            It’s almost real, it’s almost living. But, whenever you wander too near, you see the words that hold everything together, the words you tricked into servitude.

            As much as you crave to belong to that world, you know that you never can. However, you can acknowledge with sad pride, that the world you’re in is yours, and you are willing to share.