I have a great story to tell you
An even longer time ago than before once upon a time, everything was pleasant. The Sun was always shining, and it would even hide behind the clouds when the people and animals below seemed to be showing signs of sunburn. It did not want to hurt them. When the crops needed water, the Clouds would be sure to let rain fall only in the middle of the night, when everyone was sleeping, so as not to get anyone wet. Everyone was very considerate during this time.
The world was not entirely without disputes. Once the bats, cats, and other nocturnal animals, such as the limax maximus and the average caffeine addicted university student, got together and signed a petition complaining about the rain at night. Since they were always out at nighttime, many of them had fallen ill from the constant exposure to rain. And a cat with the common cold, is one cranky animal .
The Sun, Clouds, humans and animals felt horrible for having forgotten about the nocturnal beings. They apologized most sincerely and a compromise was made. It was decided that it would rain slightly more often in the day time than at night, but when it did rain during the day, the sun would still be shining, and the rain would be light and cool. And after the rain was over, rainbows would appear. This was how sun showers came into the world.
So, everything was all nice and comfortable for everyone. Yet there was one creature in all the land, water and sky that was not happy with the state of things as they were. This was an Octopus. No one knows the Octopus’s name, or whether it was male or female. All anyone knows is that the Octopus’s life was just as pleasant as everyone else’s.
The Octopus had realized what others in the old world had not; that the price of being perfect was to be boring. So the Octopus swam to a large rock somewhere near the shore of the land; a rock that all creatures of the earth, sky and land could see. On this rock he wrote, with his very own ink, a story.
The story was about many things, including things that had, thus far, not been conceived of in the then perfect world; evils. No one knows exactly what these evils were, because the ink on the rock has long since been washed away by the rain and sea. All that is known are the first words of the story “Once upon a time.” Although tales were told before this story, many regard it as the first story because it was the first of its kind that was actually engaging to listen to.
The story was so compelling that creatures came from all over the world to read it, and they retold it when they returned back to their homes. The people and animals were so impressed with the Octopus’s story that they urged the Octopus to write more, and the Octopus did so.
For a time the Octopus was happy, because life was no longer boring; excitement could be found in the stories. Although the stories contained evils, they were not evil in themselves. They were dynamic and dramatic. In contrast to the aspects of evil were tales of extraordinary goodness, goodness that could not exist, or at least, could not be appreciated, without evil to compare it to. Hence were born myths of undying loyalty, selflessness, family, friendship… and love.
But then something very strange started happening. Stories like the Octopus’s began cropping up all over the place. At first, the Octopus was overjoyed. The Octopus thought that other animals and people had taken up the art of story telling as well. Yet the Octopus soon discovered that many of these stories were not entirely fiction. The storytellers were not inventing these stories, they were recounting them; for many of the atrocious events that happened in these stories, had really happened.
The Octopus was horrified. Somehow the fiction of his stories had inspired facts. What was worse was that for every true story the Octopus heard about goodness; there seemed to be a hundred more that contained evil. “I have made a horrible mistake!” cried the Octopus, “I take them back! I call my stories back!”
But, of course, it was too late. For once a story is told, it cannot be called back. Once told, it is loose in the world.
OBSERVATIONS
While telling this story to my friends I noticed several things. Different people responded to it differently. Some people found it really funny, others absurd. This caused me to change the way I told the story depending upon who was listening to it. If my audience seemed to find certain aspects funny, I would play them up. If they were not responding to the story at all, I would rush it to the end. I thoroughly enjoyed telling the story in front of certain audiences; and found it painfully awkward in front of others.
WORKS CITED
King, Thomas. The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative. Toronto: House of Anansi Press Inc, 2003. Print.