Stories

Yes, we met on the high cliffs ages ago.

If you think I’ve changed, you ignore what happens as I cascade down. Each rock I touch changes me in some way. I absorb the stories, bringing them to meet the masses.

You see the force, but fail to see what constitutes it. Each story ignites anger or angst or joy in me, and multiplies my strength. Excitement or angst are similar in so many ways. Both wait to explode, but get scattered by the rocks – the same rocks whose stories fire me.

Stories change, but what happens to the rocks?

Written for Friday Fictioneers