The Storyteller
(A/N- Because life is my muse, and I am the one that translates its grief to art.) This is a story, but it has no ending. I am a storyteller but until now, I’ve let someone else write my story. I’ve let someone else map my beginning, middle and end, Write the message so that all I had to do was click ‘Send’, I’ve let someone else tell me about the life I should live, I’ve let someone take what I was not ready to give. This is my story and here is the beginning. Once upon a time, someone told me that we were excerpts from a story that hadn’t been written yet. It was one that I hoped I could write someday. For it only seemed fitting that a story would create for me, A world I love more than this- free from the ‘labyrinth of suffering’. But, Reality destroys the fairytales we believe in, And this was no exception. Like a stream of lava trickling down the rocky boulders of what Life tried to build, It engulfed all in its path, word-by-word, chap...