Story: Morning. Ready to write?
Me: Yes, but first there is something I don’t understand.
Story: Your natural state of affairs, I believe. What is it this time?
Me: This has to do with you. It’s more along the lines of a personal question.
Story: Oh, dear. I hope this doesn’t get awkward.
Me: I was wondering how old you are.
Story: You wrote me yesterday.
Me: Now, not you, but how old story is.
Story: Oh, that’s easy. I’ve been around forever. From cave paintings in Lascaux, France, to the first mimed gestures over a Neanderthal campfire. Maybe even older than that. I can’t really remember. It’s all kind of foggy and happened a long time ago.
Me: In a galaxy far, far away? I kid. But, seriously, you don’t look that old.
Story: I age well. Also, I’m always being recreated in different formats and genres, so that keeps me young and alive and vibrant. But there’s more….
Me: What’s that?
Story: I have a long future ahead of me as well. Short stories have been around in one incarnation or another for hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of years. As long as humans are kicking around I’ll be there. No matter where you go, what you do, I’ll always be part of humanity. Like it or not we’re stuck with each other so we might as well make the best of it.
Me: So what you are saying is you are a part of the overall human consciousness. That’s kind of nice. You know what? This looks like the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Story: Can’t you write your own stuff without cribbing from old movies?
Me: Story, you are so silly sometimes.
Story: Well, I get it from you. Come on, let’s write. I feel a story coming on.