The Little Storybook

Once upon a time there was a story that did not begin with once upon a time.

This story did not predictably end with a happy ending.

The climax was not predictably in the middle.

The story had sadness. The story had joy.

The characters came and went. Their personalities and roles changed throughout the story.

The pages when the story seemed sad the readers all cried and tried to flip the pages so fast that they tore the little storybook. With tear stained and torn pages the storybook continued on.

The pages when bad things happened, the readers tried to erase and cover up the words printed. With whited out and ink stamped pages, the storybook continued on.

The pages when things were going well, and joy was all that was seen, the readers underlined the parts they liked the best and retold each detail. With pencil marks, and margin notes the storybook continued on.

Chapter by chapter things were skimmed over when someone only wanted to get to the “good parts” of the story. A little sigh, the storybook uttered, when what was once composed as beautiful poetry, what sang sweetly from the pen to the page, what trickled like water in a stream, became a bumpersticker quote.

The cover worn from passing between all the readers… The storybook hardly recognizable from when it first started out. But the point of the storybook was to inspire creativity. To create beyond the written page and out into reality. To show all that life entails in the storybook then add to it beauty. Add to it grace and understanding for what is human.

The storybook does not have an ending yet. And one would hope the readers don’t get frustrated with the reading and close it part way. One would hope the storybook will get to the end without blank pages, and that there was not an error in printing. One would hope the ending is not rushed by a time crunched writer. One would hope the book does not fall apart before the end.

The storybook is me. 

The story is still going.