The Holder of the Story

Once upon a time, there was a Seeker who got himself to an asylum, made his way to the front desk, and asked for the one who calls himself "The Holder of the Story." A look of puzzlement crossed the worker's face.

"Who?" she asked.

"The Holder of the Story," was the response.

She insisted that she knew nothing of what he spoke. Many times did the Seeker repeat this name and insist on visiting him. He grew angry when he was denied. Soon enough, the receptionist threatened to call security.

The Seeker was smart. He ceased and walked away, knowing he had failed in his quest.

The next morning, he did not awaken. They knew his purpose and had found him.

The End.

Once upon a time, there was a Seeker who got herself to a library and asked the librarian for the one who calls himself "The Holder of the Story." The librarian disappeared underneath the counter and came back up with a library card. On it were written unrecognizable words in an indiscernible language and the Seeker's name written in her language. She accepted this gratefully, hiding the surprise and dread that lay thickly in her stomach. The librarian then pointed her to a section of the library that she had not seen before and walked away without a word.

The Seeker made her way to this section. Its shelves were lined with old tomes bound with the skins of creatures unknown to her. Their titles were in languages unknown to her, but with each title she read, clearer and clearer their meanings became. They were stories of redemption, of romance, of adventure. The mere titles brought tears to her eyes, elation to her heart. They were tales with both familiar and alien themes. Something within her longed for these stories, just as we all long for answers to our questions and solutions to our problems.

The temptation to read them became greater and greater, almost unbearable. Her curiosity was like a great weight on her shoulders. She saw no harm in pulling a book out and skimming through it. The words were unknown to her, but the image of the story manifested itself. Soon enough she knew the story and carefully put the book back. In place of her burning temptation was an odd certainty.

An old blind man dressed in a single white cloth approached her and asked for her library card. The Seeker gave it to him. He put it away.

"What is your story?" asked he.

The story she had read spilled from her lips against her volition. The words she spoke were in the language that she had read. Even when her tongue twisted and cramped, she spoke on. The last word of the story was the last word she ever spoke.

The old man returned her library card. In place of her name was the last word of that story. She accepted it and returned home. Her path had been chosen and she knew what to do.

It attracted Them. She could neither scream nor beg.

The End.

Once upon a time, there was a Seeker who got himself to a library and asked the librarian for the one who calls himself "The Holder of the Story." The librarian disappeared underneath the counter and came back up with a library card. On it were written unrecognizable words in an indiscernible language and the Seeker's name written in his language. He accepted this gratefully, hiding the surprise and dread that lay thickly in his stomach. The librarian then pointed him to a section of the library that he had not seen before and walked away without a word.

The Seeker made his way to this section. Its shelves were lined with old tomes bound with the skins of creatures unknown to him. Their titles were in languages unknown to him, but with each title he read, clearer and clearer their meanings became. They were stories of redemption, of romance, of adventure. The mere titles brought tears to his eyes, elation to his heart. They were tales with both familiar and alien themes. Something within him longed for these stories, just as we all long for answers to our questions and solutions to our problems. The temptation to read these stories was almost unbearable, his curiosity a great weight on his shoulders, and yet he still continued on.

Soon enough (and yet it took too long), the Seeker came upon an old blind man dressed in a single white cloth. The old blind man asked the Seeker for his library card. The Seeker gave it to him. The old blind man put it away.

"What is your story?" asked he.

"I have none," was the response. "Tell me His."

The old blind man smiled. From his mouth spilled a story never before conceived by any author. It was spoken in a language that the Seeker could not understand, but the meaning was very clear indeed. But the Seeker's mind was weak. It was easily broken by the Story. Upon the last word, his sanity fled him. But the Story remained in his mind and still does to this day as he wanders the maze-like shelves of the hidden section of the library.

The End.

The Story is object 330 out of 538. It has determined many ends, but it is up to you to determine its own.