A. S. Yesterday I took up the Writing Challenge, where I write a short story of ever-increasing number of words every day. Since I've crossed the midnight line without sleep, this is Day 1's. It's not a short story but an essay; either way, I enjoyed writing it and wanted to share it with Hubski. Hope you enjoy it as well.
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Stories never end, nor do they have a beginning. The first word is merely a signal for the show to start; its conception - always hidden from the viewer.
Stories never come from nowhere. They're sparked by an image so unlike the rest that it tickles the author at their most intimate, touching parts of the soul that are often unseen and unheard. Those images come from moments in life that we stumble upon, and those moments had to start with a spark, as well.
Long after we think the story is over, it lives on in the minds of the people having observed it. The character moments and twists of plot inspire ideas of their own and stray people towards paths less explored. They ignite passions we never knew we had and quench fires that have bothered us furtively for a long time.
We treat characters in the book as separate entities, while in reality, they are nothing less than real. They're just as odd or unfamiliar or close or beloved. They affect us all the same, and we remember them as such. We form bonds, and unlike those between physical people, these don't break: they are firm because by their nature, they are constant.
The world is one long chain of cause and effect, its lines intertwining seamlessly and parting quietly every hour of every day. From a thought, another thought is born; from a feeling - another feeling; from a person - another person. Actions breed actions, words breed words.
In such a world, nothing ever dies. Whatever lives, leaves its legacy in the lives of the ones that live afterwards. Without one thing, another is never the same, its path surreptitiously tweaked. Tiny moments, like grains of sand, build a beach with time. Stories upon stories, despite falling apart, the world is constantly coming together. It is as if the river itself builds bridges to be crossed and boats to be sailed upon. Even at a brink of extinction, humanity may be left to marvel and pride...
We were here. We made something. We did something.
...and whoever comes after will look at the traces of our existence and know: even if there isn't much left to tell our story, there is a story to be told, because in a world like ours, nothing ever dies.