The truth of a story

A storyteller tells a story. But is it a story that he would like to happen? Or is it one that he would wish would happen? Is he replaying some event that he can see now should have ended differently? Is he praying for a happy, poetic, tragic ending? 

What if I told you, all and none of the above? Putting pen to paper is a labour. And not always a labour of love. But a storyteller must. Is driven to do nothing less. In an endless search for what the story should truly be. For what they desperately want it to be. 

The night was neutral and the wind still.The sounds of life still echoed far off in the distance.There is no rest or quiet in a modern city. But there is loneliness. There is abandonment. No matter how large the city is. There is always someone left wanting. It takes a lot of sorrow to make the molten core turn. 

What makes more sense? A bullet? A quick end to a painful sentence. So easy and that's why it's filled with so much fear and trepidation. A pill? Not so much as an end to a sentence as it is a sentence that just disappears. With not even the story being sure that it disappears. A knife cut? A gentle slow fade at the end of the sentence. With only the painful beginning of it. 

To know things. To watch them go. To be the only one to know that they've gone. To be the only witness to their passing. To forever know that the world is blind to what has been lost. Then to mark time until the end of the sentence. To sit alone in the balcony as the story is told. To go headlong into the furnace knowing of the heat. To look into patronising eyes and know the realisation of pity. To watch once more as the demons take their bow. 

Anguish to one is joy to another. As hard as it is to believe pain is just pain. Even those among us who have the ability to take away pain. They don't. But watch them howl at the moon when no one is there to take away theirs. In the dead of night it is too loud to hear the light going out of another candle. But I assure you it goes out. All too often it goes out. 

In the dark doubt is removed. Sometimes even in the light we lose our way. As for the ones tasked to help us, they have given up that responsibility to the abyss. The abyss helps no one. Even at the end of the sentence no one wants to be abandoned and alone. The fact of this brings the pain and the pain turns the core. 

I'm a storyteller. A story of what I would like to happen. A story of what has happened. Both and neither are true. But what makes more sense at the end of a sentence? In the middle of a neutral night and still wind. Alone and abandoned listening to the sound of the candles going out

~~~~~~~~~ 

Maybe I'll sleep tonight. It really depends on what makes more sense.