A short, short story was not tall enough to ride the rides. Story was sad every time she passed the amusement park and saw all the other tales on the roller coaster, merry-go-round, and tilt-a-whirl.
“Why can’t I be like Narrative, or even Novella?” she would lament. “I know what gravity is like, but I’m not allowed to experience the G-force of a giant drop.”
Story’s frustrations overflowed one day. She found an iPhone that was logged in to a blog with a blank page in front of her. She wasn’t tall enough to be allowed to use the Internet, so this moment was both a temptation and a certainty.
Story decided and immediately began to write herself down. She danced across the little tiny phone keyboard as if her very denouement depended on it. In only fifty minutes, Story had a blog post on this random blog on the random iPhone that required several swipes to scroll from top to bottom. Story needed a name for her prose. She thought and thought, feeling that time was running out when the real owner of the phone might come back and demand that someone far too short stop using the Internet.
She dashed off a title and gently placed the phone back where she found it. Looking at her work, she walked away, heading past the amusement park gate toward home.
As she was walking past the gate attendant, the attended shouted, “Wait, are you the Story that wrote You Can Be Any Height to Ride My Wave? I just read your work on Dictionary’s blog – it wasn’t in his voice at all. You’re a towering writer, I’d be honored to invite you to ride the rides at this amusement park.”
Story graciously thanked the attendant, but strode off in search of another lost phone. When she found one (unbeknownst to her that of Soliloquy), she wrote:
Height might be measured Words might be feathered I've left me alone Unexamined character Yet here I am standing Story of mine Memorable to the last Leaned forward to the past --
This piece was originally produced for LWS.
Roman Ryan 