Story Teller's Lament

I am an author, an artist, and a musician. I live and breathe creativity in multiple forms. I was only nine years old when I began authoring stories about honorable warriors in a realm that can only be described as fantasy. They were faceless shadows but over time they evolved. Faces, cultures, personalities, and purpose all came into the light. They were no longer thoughts or whimsical inspirations. They were people as close to me as the friends I had come to cherish.

When I was fourteen the realm in its entirety revealed itself. I tirelessly drafted stories, songs, and poems of their heroism. I used my hands to craft portraits, clay statues, and paintings detailing what I saw in my mind's eye. The thought never came to me to try and produce a marketable product until someone from the outside insisted.

Years later I took writing courses for the first time. A member of my creative writing course read a sample and continued to ask for more. They finished one of my three ring binders full of stories. Following this they asked me out to coffee to discuss my creations.

My classmate Ray felt that I should try to publish my works. I came to realize that more people felt the same. Another friend and I made a bet. If I won, he would forget about the idea, and if he won, I would try to do something with my creations. He won the bet, but I had no intension to follow through. That was until I returned to college the next week to find the Ray had passed on. A reckless accident caused by people lacking common sense or concern for those around them. I worked diligently attempting to find my true voice and refine my style.

In the year 1996, Earthbound Publications accepted me. I can’t say that I was a true success but that didn’t matter. I had accomplished a goal. In July of that year, I received my first check with a contract negotiating more works. I held a celebration that will always be remembered.

I grew up in a rural area on my family property. It was large enough to have a party for seventy-five people. A bonfire roared and a few of my musician friends were nice enough to provide the tunes. I gave my thanks to everyone I invited and to those who could not attend. I could not have made the struggle without their support. After everything was underway, I needed some time to myself. I went to the backyard where the old house was secluded. There I found impeccable lookalikes for characters in my story. The one dressed as Destroyer shot me in the right shoulder. Needless to say, I hit the ground blacked out from the shock.

I regained consciousness to discover that I was bound and gagged in the back of a moving truck. The revelation that presented itself was hard to believe. The stories I wrote were actual accounts of the heroes and their lives. I denied it for as long as I could but the more, I experienced the more it rang true. I was taken to an isolated place where the Trackers, understudies of the Huntsmen, decided my fate. They told me of my crimes and judgement had been passed.

Lightning Viper, leader of the Brotherhood, communicated to Destroyer through an enchanted mirror. He ordered my immediate death. My crime was simple. The secrets they hid from mortals were now public knowledge. That also meant future plans and decisions against their enemies were also being revealed. I also overheard that Viper has done this before. I was consumed by a fear strong enough to pierce the heavens, and I also knew that if this was my reality I would never go home.

Like a blood thirsty predator, Destroyer turned and chained her eyes to me. Each step she took was cold and precise. My body shivered because I knew her favorite way of dispatching her prey. I tried to steady myself and accept my fate like an adult instead of a weeping child. The blade pierced my skull, and life started to leave me. I remember slumping over unable to speak, but I watched all that was going on. The Trackers were dealt with, and I was saved.

The woman was young and appeared as if she stepped out of a cyberpunk western. She wore a black outfit with a six-shooter strapped to either thigh, complimented by another set resting on either side of her hips. There was a black bandanna around her neck and a mirrored pair of black shades. Her long chocolate brown duster flattered the style of her matching hat. Her shoulder length braids draped down almost covering her face.

When I was able to stand to my full height I noticed the symbol on her hat band. The symbol of a Zentaga Traveler. Her partner easily handled all other details pushing the Trackers back but not killing them. This unknown angel of a woman sat down beside me. She told me everything confirming the truth laid at my feet. It was then I discovered that I was not alone. She explained that I had been chosen to undertake a Sacred Profession. My title was Sage Scribe. There are thirteen of us who exist at one time. Like a Divine Profession, one may have the skill or talent, but the choice is mine to follow it. Once she felt I had a grasp of my situation she opened a time portal and returned me to the point where I vanished. When her job was done, she and her compatriot departed, swallowed by incomparable silence and shadow.

Life became strange for me after that. I began to question everything I did. Writing became a dangerous obsession. Still, life must go on and I did what I could. I completed the series according to my contract but none of them ever had major recognition. Eventually I was released from my obligations, but I found other outlets. I had to take a job to survive, and I also married. The stress left me, and I focused on enjoying the blessings I had been given.

In 2014 I laid down after an extremely exhausting day. My mind was going a thousand miles an hour, but I didn’t have the strength to record any of it. I fell asleep and woke up on Ethery. The Mother planet, center of the universe, and the core of all that is or will be. I was there with the other twelve Scribes, but I was the only human. I interacted with the Knights of Forever and their world. I was living the geeks dream. My feelings were obviously shared by the others.

A few began to cry, a couple began to pray, from what I assume, one of us even began documenting into a glowing recording device. The others were like me. Left in awe, speechless. We discovered that each of us has delved into specific aspects more deeply than the others. Therefore, the thirteen of us were asked to compare our works so that we could gain a more comprehensive picture of what is. We were engaged on multiple levels and each of us were given the honor of holding an audience with the Watcher herself.

I can’t speak for my counterparts, but my discoveries were first taken from observation. She was kinder than my descriptions and she carried more of an earthmother feel verses the ominous presence I conveyed in my writings. Her words did flow with an intense purpose but also wisdom of the ages. She offered me tea and told me a truth I had intentionally overlooked.

The Master Realm of Creation is so immense that the balance is always in danger. The smallest pebble in the river can destroy the entirety of being. This meant that all of existence would be altered causing a breakdown of infinite integrity. The band of energy created by the flow of the Powersurge. This band is the cohesive energy bringing all realms, all beings, and all possibilities together.

She informed me that there are many more players in the game. All are essential for maintaining a harmonious balance. Sacred Sages are one such necessity. Sage Scribes fall beneath that category. That was when she defined what our purpose was as told to her by the Creator and the Lifebringer. Story Tellers are the record keepers of deeds. Appearances, names, and species of the characters are basic and irrelevant. That’s why the Brotherhood and the Knights are mythological shadows presented in various forms. Their actions, however, become the bond that’s remembered. Stories have been a way to record history and pass it from one generation to the next. Eventually the truth of the story becomes muddled or lost, thus the thought energy used to maintain a connection diminishes. During these instances great upheaval and turmoil fill the realm. Those conditions herald the birth of a Sage Scribe.

The recounting of the great deeds that formed and maintained the realms allowing them to flourish once again. With enough beings absorbing the values of the words we write, a collective consciousness emerges. The thought energy as she called it connects us all to the Sacred Stones of Virtue. According to her, that connection is what gave all life free will. Without individuality and independent thought there would be no evolution and the will to live would be eradicated.

The Watcher continued to warn me of the trials we as Scribes would have to face. Forces will be working against us. Some moments will be dramatic most will be subtle. The purpose is to force us to stop our work. The challenges will manifest in many ways. Destruction, illness, emotional turmoil, tragic loss, and outside influences, naming a few of the negative efforts.

Those of us who continue struggling to pass the word are the ones elevated to higher status. Truths are revealed to us because we press on, even though we have no gain from it. That’s the reason the thirteen of us were brought here. That’s why we have been given this knowledge. Before my lesson ended, she asked something of me I was not expecting. She asked me not to give up hope, and then, she thanked me.

After a few days of wonderment, I awoke in my bed the moment I was taken. Proof that my experiences were real sat on the table by my computer. All the shared information from my counterparts and notes I had taken with a quill and ink. For further measures each document had a stamp of the Travelers on them.

Knowing this would be impossible for others to believe, I kept my experience to myself. I continued with my work and the small world I once looked upon expanded into a much larger mural. Each time I hit a roadblock I remembered the wise warning from the Watcher. There were days that it was harder than most, but I sucked it up and fought back. I continued my efforts even though nothing else ever got published.

Now here I exist in 2024 with my computer before me. My phrase to describe my roadblocks has become, “Life gets in the way.” A truth I can’t deny, still I put fingers to keys when I can and only if the thoughts are clear. My connection to the lives of heroes is now dull. I no longer hear their words, see their faces, or experience their pain. When I get glances now it’s a fractured pattern. I’m sure it’s due to age and some of the ailments I’ve overcome. My goal now is to leave a legacy for future generations to notice.

The current state of the world reflects the words I heard so many years ago. Humans, as a whole, have lost their connection to what is right and wrong. They claw for power no matter how miniscule of a portion they can gain. Few people do for others and have honorable intentions these days. I know my time is ending. Still, I have hope. Hope that when the next Storyteller is born, they can make the difference where our generation could not.

People must remember that the answers don’t exist in entertainment devices, willful distraction, or status. The answer to salvation lies in the will to be kind. Survival comes from the desire to act with decency. Hope is nurtured with the wisdom to do better and become more than what we are. The universe is vast, and I have a unique perspective when it comes to the continuation of our species. We need the universe; it doesn’t need us. If things don’t change someone out there will turn us to dust or we’ll do it to ourselves. Either way our contributions to the Life Stream will be long forgotten. May the gods have mercy on our souls.