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She wakes in the dark. Her eyes rub against her delicate hands, seeking light someplace else. Around her, she notices, a place that is quiet; No noise is heard, and though her mind tells her voice to speak, no words can seep through. She is naked, and cold, with confusion haunting her very essence of being. She explores that which lies around her: A small well sitting near a large apple tree. Several bunnies run furiously past. A voice heard over head, yet no where in sight suddenly utters: "Quests are a great way to gain experience." This place is odd, she thinks to herself; But her curiosity takes hold, and she follows the path onward. Some odd people ask her to do even stranger quests. Gather acorns, and some rabbit meat, learn how to soothe one's wounds; the laws of the land are made very clear.. and sooner than later, she is pushed into the real world. Now wielding a Novice sword, and clothed in a peasent dress, she is ready to face the unknown. She is a beacon of sunshine; An inspiration to the kingdoms. She comes across a young boy, who (while swinging his sword quite furiously in her general direction) quickly utters: "WAT UR NAME??" Quite an odd accent and way of speaking, these strange people have! But, she speaks ten fluent languages, and is always eager to learn another. She asks the young man to repeat himself, and though he utters the same thing over and over and over again, she quickly catches on. "Oh!" She giggles. "My name is Cul'ture d'Storie-Peum." As she tosses one waving strand of her long, curly blond locks over her shoulder in delight of her eloquent name. "ROFL. Ur Culture?!!? I buy poem for my Ee!!!!!!11" She had no idea what this strange boy was speaking of, but she quickly found herself surrounded by similar creatures. They were demanding, tearing at her beautiful hair and ripping at her clothes. They kept asking for poems, over and over, but she had no clue what they were referring to! She was an expert in Poetry writing, but she knew very well in order for one to truly appreciate the art, they must make it theirselves. But they were unrelenting. Every morning she woke to millions of letters stuck into her mailbox; Some with ink spilled so horribly over the entire document, and others with barely legable writing. But they all shared one thing: They all wanted poems. They spoke of this "Ee san" as if it was some sort of great reward; As if their lives would not be complete if they did not gain this reward. Time after time, she informed each and every one of them that this reward was greater earned than simply given, but the letters did not stop. They were eager, sometimes vile. They would stop at NOTHING to gain what they wanted! And poor little Cul'ture wondered if they would ever leave her alone. She simply enjoyed writing. She delighted in getting that gleam in her eye. That sense of accomplishment by simply writing what her heart felt. She could share stories with the world. Stories that were sad, happy, tearful, heart-wrenching, and heart-felt. Stories that could move mountains, and stories that could destroy a giant mob of men. The stories she wrote gave her so much meaning, so much point. These poor people may not ever understand why it brought her so much joy. Why she has become who she is, because of her stories. They will never realize that it is beyond the point of just gaining a mark. It is something that not even this eloquent being could describe in words. Something that shocked her heart to be alive every morning; Something that made her eyes want to see all of the beauty in the world, if only so her hands could write it down on paper. If only so one person could read what she has experienced, and be moved. From these stories, she has learned that one tiny bit of good in the world can change it. Was it so bad she wished to change the world? ~ Songa. | |