The storyteller sat in a corner of the room, his forehead cradled in his hands. In his mind, he was reliving a story.
In a world full of darkness, there lived a kind man. He owned a shop on the outskirts of town, where he would draw images he saw through his telescope and share his knowledge with anyone who was curious. He had a loving family and friends, but despite all his blessings, he was tormented by a creeping sickness.
An infection had taken hold of him, a black mark had spread across his arm and sapped away pieces of his soul. Blackened pieces of his arm would flake off and drift away. Every time he took a deep breath, the anxiety would wash over him, threatening to consume him whole. It was said that a monster was feeding on this sickness, and every day, nine more people fell victim to it. The man was filled with fear that he would be next.
One evening, as he sat lost in thought clutching his arm, he looked up. There it was, the monster looking at him. The dark beast was coming for him. He ran for his life, but in the dim light, he stumbled and fell into an abandoned mine shaft. Halfway down, he was caught by a rope, dangling over a pit where the faint glow of a dragon's eyes could be seen, waiting to devour him. He was trapped: if he fell, he would be devoured, but if he tried to climb out, the dark beast would get him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw two mice, one black and one white, gnawing away at the rope. Slowly but surely, they would chew through it. Curious why mice were chewing a rope he looked above to find honeycomb dripping. In a drop of honey, he saw a reflection of his life and reached out to touch it. To his amazement, a piece of the infection rose up through the drop of honey and continued upwards. He must surely be hallucinating, he thought, he must have concussion. As it reached the shaft opening it transformed into a being, looking down at him. Somehow, each piece of himself with this nectar generated a new being. A new generation was born.
The man was in disbelief, but he couldn't deny what he was seeing. The infection continued to grow and the man continued generating new beings, each one reflecting a new vision of home, hope, humour and humanity. Eventually, a large group of beings had gathered at the top of the mine shaft, but despite their presence, the man started to panic. He feared that no one would help him, that he would be left to die. He feared no one cared, until a wave of realization washed over him. The rope that held him, the rope the mice had almost gnawed through, he had the rope, he had the tool that could save him!
The storyteller sobbed to himself "I just need to do something, tell someone"
With determination, he braced himself against the rocky walls; the rope broke free. He cast the rope to his generations. Together, they pulled him from the mine. On solid ground once again, the man stood up with courage, surrounded by his generations. They all turned to face the dark beast with the light of a new day.
The storyteller stands (struggles) to his feet and exhales
The storyteller sat at his desk working away on a new artwork, a robotic arm assisted him. "Take note to self," he whispered. "You make your own hope. Give yourself to each day. You don't know what the future holds. Helping others is greater than helping yourself, but you must first be in a position to help."
by Rhett Mankind
