The Storyteller

Long ago when the sky only stayed one color, there was a storyteller who roamed here and there and earned a living telling lots of stories. Then it happened one day that the storyteller came across some young children playing by the river with no other adult to watch them. There was no problem with the children playing by themselves. But the river had many dead fish floating with the current and the storyteller somehow wanted to get the children away from the river.

One of the young children recognized the storyteller and asked him to tell a story. He said that he would, but his price was that they come with him to return to their homes. The children disagreed. They wanted to hear the story first before they went home. The storyteller agreed. They sat in a circle to listen to his story.

"Long ago when the sky only stayed one color, there was a storyteller who roamed here and there and earned a living telling lots of stories. Then it happened one day that the storyteller came across some young children playing by the river with no other adult to watch them. There was no problem with the children playing by themselves. But the river had many dead fish floating in it. The children did not know why. Only the storyteller knows why.

The storyteller said that he roamed here and there and somewhere there, he found an empire made of bones. Everything from the walls of homes to the fortress of the king. But not all of the bones were walls. Someone of the bones moved here and there and many of them were building a bridge. They want to come back to this place because they miss it so much."

"They miss it so much?" asked the children.

"They miss it so much," said the storyteller. "The storyteller said that when people die and are buried into the ground, their bodies sink to the other side until only bones come out. They are buried here, but they climb out of the other side."

"Even my lolo?" said one child.

"Even your lolo," said the storyteller.

"Even my lola?" said another child.

"Even your lola," said the storyteller. The children were afraid.

"And look, even the rivers are full of fish bones! They are coming!" said the storyteller. The storyteller pointed at the river and the children saw the dead fish floating down the river. The children screamed and went back to their homes.

The storyteller laughed to himself because he did what he wanted to do.

The storyteller went in the direction of the children because he knew there were people there and he could tell stories for food. When he was closer to the village, he could hear people screaming and running around. He walked quickly to the voices and there were many skeletons clutching children and all of them were afraid. At the edge of the village, the storyteller could see a bridge made of bones that went far into the sea. Skeletons were marching on the bridge was if there were an army of them.

The children whom he met at the river were crying and scared. "Storyteller! Stop them!"

"But I don’t know how!" said the storyteller.

"But you said only the storyteller knows how!" yelled the children.

The storyteller told an untruth, but now he has to make it truth. The storyteller closed his eyes so he could see the story clearly in his mind. He saw the skeletons coming to the village over the bridge inside of his closed eyes. Then he felt himself running through the walking skeletons with all of the skeletons missing him in their grasp. His legs were tired but he kept running until he reached the center of the bridge. The storyteller grabbed a single chicken bone from the middle of the bridge and the story ended in his closed eyes.

The storyteller opened his eyes and ran onto the bridge made of bones. He ran through the walking skeletons with all of the skeletons missing him in their grasp. His legs were tired but he kept running until he reached the center of the bridge. The storyteller grabbed a single chicken bone from the middle of the bridge and the bridge collapsed. All of the skeletons on the bridge fell into the sea. The storyteller who pulled the chicken bone out of the bridge also fell into the sea and drowned.

Now the dead never come back to the world of the living, because there is no more bridge. Also because the storyteller who told the story is now with them, plucking the chicken bones from every bridge.