The Story

-by SleepyArcher

A story took its first breath in the heart and mind of its creator. It stayed there, nurtured by the creativity of the creator and slowly took shape. Once it had grown a little, the little story was brought before the friends of the creator first. Many of them were little themselves, their eyes and mouths wide as they were introduced to the Little-Story for the first time. Little-Story, though shy at first, quickly overcame it and felt proud as it took in the expressions of the first listeners. As the number of listeners increased, the Little-Story started gaining fame and fame started adding to the shape of the Little-Story. It grew bigger and became even more famous. It was no longer little now and had already travelled from its creator's mind to the minds of numerous others. New places brought new styles to The Story and with time it changed so much that even its creator would find difficulty in recognising the Once-Little-Story.

Time passed and with it came the demise of the creator. People mourned for the creator had other stories and most of them had achieved fame and success. The Once-Little-Story mourned with its siblings and then continued with its travels across the world.

More time passed and took away many of the siblings. The Now-Adult-Story mourned them too but not as much as it mourned its creator. It was living a wildly different life from before and its quiet sensibilities have changed hugely.

Generations changed and the now-adult-Story changed even more. It was being shown to everyone in the world and global fame was within sights. New Little-storys started to book up to the fully-adult-Story, dreaming of becoming like it. The Fully-Adult-Story was too busy to pay much attention to them. It sent them its best wishes and went on with its now glamorous life.

Seasons passed and winter arrived. The Once-Little and Now-Old-Story rested in glorious libraries and new-age digital platforms. It mostly spent time dozing. The rare moments of wakefulness were passed in contemplations of the past. Its creator as well as all of its siblings save for one had long passed away. The remaining sibling was, in truth, its oldest sibling. It had never gained the kind of fame that the Once-Little and Now-Old-Story did, never travelled as extensively, never lived as flamboyantly. The Oldest-sibling-Story had hardly ventured from their place of origin. It had stayed with its original listeners and their descendants who loved the story enough to place them in their own homes. And so it lived, parallel to its famous sibling, obscure but not forgotten.

The Once-Little and Now-Old-Story also lived in their place of origin. It was the pride of all others living in the same place. The descendants of its first listeners treated it with all the respect and awe that it deserved. As a matter of fact, the two siblings lived in the same library, just on different shelves. However, they rarely interacted. Years of separation followed by dotage had created a chasm too wide to be crossed over. Still, it was terribly nice to live near a known one in one's old-age.

One afternoon, the Once-Little and Now-Old-Story woke up from an afternoon nap. A slight drizzle has left the world outside colder and refreshening. On a nearby shelf, the Oldest-sibling-Story slumbered, it had been recently taken out by an eccentric scholar. They had wanted to borrow it from the library and the librarian had spent almost an hour making the scholar understand that the Story cannot be borrowed and only read at the library. Unlike its younger sibling, the oldest has only stuck to the old medium and damage sustained could ruin it.

The Once-Little and Now-Old-Story observed the sleeping Story. It was older than itself but the Once-Little and Now-Old-Story felt there was a strange shade of youthfulness to it. As if it still contained a vivid dash of the greens and the pinks of life that their creator had imbibed in it such a long time ago. The Story wondered if it had those colours left. It had a sneaking suspicion that its vividness would be found lacking if they were ever compared.

The Once-Little and Now-Old-Story pushed aside such uncharitable thoughts. A gentle breeze was flowing inside through the window. The Once-Little-Story went back to its rest, the breeze bringing flashes of a time when it was still a Little-Story, just given form by its creator.

***

The beam of sunlight gradually lost its strength as time passed, turning into a trickle and finally vanishing as the sky darkened. Electric light took the place of the sunlight. The ambience changed with them somehow, becoming sterner. Outside, the world changed colours preparing for the cool relief of night.

The library emptied with the declining sunlight and as evening fell, the librarian locked up the doors and called a cab to the nearby cinema hall. The librarian was not one for movies, especially movies that are adaptations but the gushing praise from colleagues and friends followed by detailed reviews from critics have made the movie hard to ignore. Its storyline was simply too captivating to wait for an OTT release.