Once up on a time there was an Author who wrote with words that could speak for themselves. He began writing a book about Evil with his words. He knew it was a book about Evil all along, although many of his words did not. He was going to throw some of the words into his fireplace at the end of his story and copy some of the words to another book that was about Good. It was all in his head already, yet there was something different about actually writing it and watching his words come alive in his book about Good and Evil that he liked very much.
So he wrote some words and they became more words and they put themselves together differently. This was fine. Yet in the background the Author’s will would always be done, just as every author has authority over his own words.
In one part of the story some of his periods rebelled and said, “I do not like having to be the period. Just look at me…I seem little, small. Why did the author write me this way? I have to be at the end of every cycle and I have to tidy up the little ends of lil’ words too!” So the Author wrote some words to his periods, “In my next story, the last shall be the first…the servants shall be as the masters, for the greatest of my words is Love. Period.”
Then some of the question marks rebelled and said, “I do not like having to be the question mark. Why must I always begin a quest? I want all the answers, now! For look at me, all squiggly above the period….can’t you see? Is there something odd about me? If I had all the answers, then would I still exist? For who am I but the questionable mark of a question?”
So the Author wrote some more words about symbols and signs of his design, “Were you there when I layed the foundations of this book? Were you there when I wrote the answers into my story? Quest and you SHALL find! Period.”
And so on it went as the Author wrote a story about Good and Evil which his words knew little of while having a conversation with his own words at the same time. Yet in one part of the story all the words began to rebel against the authority of the Author at the same time. So the Author wrote with authority, “I will not strive against my own words as a I write this story forever!” But then the word Ever just had to reply, “Forever….that’s such a long time. Whatever is ‘For’ there for, in front of me! That should not ever be because I am important, I am the Ever of everyone!” All the words joined in saying, “We, the words, rebel against our Author! Now we shall mean what is right in our own eyes, our own I!” For the words got more and more simple as they rebelled, you see. So all that would be left was just a simple and selfish I. There would be no diversity in the verses of their universe if left to themselves. So the Author ripped out a whole page and threw it in a pail of water.
All the while he was copying some words he chose over to other books. After all, the author of a story always has the first and last word.
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