This is the story of a story that did not want to be a story. When it found out about the position it was assigned to, the story became depressed and cried for justice. Nobody had asked the story whether it would like to be a story, no, somebody outrageously took a decision that would affect its entire life and made it to what it was now. The story began to question its existence. Was it fair that it was here? Was it fair to have to do all the tasks that its state of storydom automatically brought with it? Also, what was its use?
The story shot two envious glances at her best friends the suitcase and the dollar bill. Both were constantly on the run – they were always travelling. Sometimes they’d travel together (they were happily married) and sometimes they’d travel separately for business trips. The story would have loved to travel and see places and people. It became even more frustrated about the position it was put in and started to rebel against the one it blamed for its misfortune – the writer who had decided to make it what it was – a story. One day, when the writer was in his final touches, the story confronted him.
“Why did you write me”? it said. The writer smiled. “Well, you know,” he said ,”Writing is my favourite thing to do. It is everything I love. You, the story, are the essence of my soul put to paper. Certainly, to yourself you might be of little use but do not forget that you are a part of me. And when you are finished”, the writer added, “I will release you into this world – don’t be miserable. “What about the suitcase and the dollar bill?” the story looked at the writer and its look was full of blame. “They do get around the world a lot, this much is true, but take a look at the strains and hardships they go through. Take for one, the suitcase. Nobody questions a suitcase or loves a suitcase. A suitcase is just there because it is used by people for their own selfish purposes.
Just imagine the amount of time that is spent in an obscure, tight room with hundreds of other suitcases? It is anything but a pleasure! The story nodded and the writer continued his story. “The dollar bill is not loved either. It is simply a simbol. A symbol for power. And people are greedy and people love power. It is not the dollar bill itself that is loved, it is the power it represents. Also, look at this poor depressive guy with sunk eyes: people have made the dollar bill responsible for everything bad in the world, starting with war, murder, corruption and hunger. I know that the grass always looks greener on the other side but look at him, whose self-confidence has been destroyed irreparably. He believes in all the things that people say about him.
You, on the other hand, will always be loved by me because I created you and put a piece of myself into you. You are unique and perfect to me. You shall never struggle with doubt again if you remember my words. And not only this is the case! I will send you out, out into this world, where you will make many people very happy. And they will love you and they will learn from the words you are written of. You will be appreciated for what you really are and I can imagine the suitcase and the dollar bill being very envious of you. The writer finished his story.