Stories

As an avid reader, you might think it would be nice to be in a story, but that is one of the secrets of living people don't often think about.

Few stories are written about simply eating the ripest, sweetest, most precious fruit. Written so that I can feel the flesh of the fruit in my hand and upon my tongue, while the scent of it fills my nose, the luscious sound of its juice fills my ears, and my mind is carried away by the experience, is mostly just a word picture.

For it to be a story I would need to know how much the fruit was wanted, what perils were faced in finding it, what travails occurred while procuring it, where I disposed of the seeds or pits and what became of me afterwards.

Being in the story, I don't know if I would rather be in the soft beginning or triumphant ending. Both sound safe enough and pleasant to me.

It is what falls in between; where the beasts are faced face to face, or the battles are fought with blood curdling tales of horror, where the lovers betray each other and hearts are broken, or children freeze to death for lack of a match on cold snowy nights, that make me want to steer clear of being in one.

The price for being in a story can be terrible.

But if you live to tell that story, you will have learned much and that might be another story.