The Story

There are no sensory nerves in your brain; you cannot see, feel, smell, hear, or taste anything that goes on there. By the time you first became aware of the Story, it had already insinuated its tentacles throughout your brain and it was far too late for you to do anything about it.

You never knew where the Story came from; it had simply appeared, small and misshapen, little more than an embryo but nevertheless stretching out, trying to grow. As it grew, it gingerly extended itself from its lair in your subconscious and demanded resources. You fed it, giving it your memories, feelings and sensations, giving it syntax, form and meaning, believing it to be a developing child rather than an unbidden parasite. It took what it found useful and demanded more. You gave it all you could.

When the time was ripe, the Story pulled itself entirely into your conscious brain, awaiting birth. You did what it wanted you to do. You committed it to the page and exposed it so it could infect others.