The Storyteller

Dystopian Future

The elders had spun tales of the past, when cities were metropolises of amazing technology and buildings touched the sky. A hundred years ago, the great wars had destroyed civilization on a global scale. The only blessing was that the powers that be hadn’t utilized their nuclear arsenal, instead relying on conventional weapons and EMPs to destroy their enemies.

Daryn had difficulty imagining anything taller than the single storied destroyed buildings. No one lived in the cities anymore. While they weren’t forbidden, exploring them was strongly discouraged. Most ‘dults were too focused on survival to explore.

Daryn had more free time than most because she was an apprentice storyteller. It was an important position within her village. She’d told all the stories she’d memorized, and was searching for inspiration to create a new story.

She walked around the village observing the same people and activities she always did. It was obvious that staying here wasn’t helpful. She needed a change of scenery to inspire the muse. After grabbing a pack and her walking stack, she began her journey to the remains of the city.

Daryn arrived and wandered through the ruined husks of the buildings. She climbed over large slabs of concrete and carefully skirted shattered glass, covering her eyes. A thousand points of light stabbed into her brain as the glass reflected the sun like a flattened disco ball.

She wandered deeper into the city, further than she’d gone before. An earth tremble jolted the ground beneath her feet. She hit the ground and curled into a ball; head tucked with hands protecting her neck. It lasted for what seemed like forever. A few moments later the shaking stopped. Daryn climbed to her feet and looked toward the sound of a loud crash on the next block. Curiosity drove her to find out what happened.

She rounded the corner to see a small cloud of dust in front of a wall of debris. The breeze blew the dust away and a few of the larger pieces had fallen and revealed a hidden shop. A new find! She carefully clambered over the debris, making sure her footing was secure before continuing.

Daryn jumped into the clear space before the door. She looked at the dirty glass, but was unable to determine what kind of shop it was. The lettering on the intact glass wasn’t recognizable. Written language was a thing of myth and legend. Knowledge of writing died out shortly after the great wars, due to the need for survival. Reading had been a luxury the survivors could not afford. None of the storytellers in her village were able to decipher the scribbles they’d run across on various signs and billboards.

She tried the handle of the door, pleasantly surprised when it opened.

The air inside the closed-up shop was musty and surprisingly dry. There was minimal damage, a few items littered the floor, but the rest of the things were on shelves running up and down the length of the place.

Daryn picked an item up off the floor. It was heavier than she thought. She opened it and lettering covered the thin pages. She’d heard about places like this. It was a bookstore. She closed her eyes and inhaled the musty vanilla scent. Walking through the store, she stopped when she came to a section filled with brightly colored books with large lettering. She pulled one out and looked at the pictures. There was a cat, a dog, birds, and a sun. She traced the letters next to each picture with her finger. This, this would teach her how to translate the letters into words and words into stories.

A peek in the back room, revealed box upon box of books. This was a treasure trove of knowledge.

Over the course of the next week, she was able to figure out one of smaller books.

Saturday night arrived and it was her turn to entertain the village with a story. She stood on before the fire and told the story of a little named Max who ran around wearing a wolf costume and was sent to bed without dinner.

The littles were entranced by the story. The ‘dults dismissed it out of hand. One of the elders had tears in her eyes. All turned to blame Daryn before the elder spoke up. Storyteller, where did you hear that story?

Daryn bit her lip and clasped the elder’s outstretched hand.

I found a bookshop and I read the story. Dayrn admitted. Do you know of it?

Yes, my grandmother told me her mother used to read that story to her at bedtimes. You’ve brought back many wonderful memories. Thank you.

One of the ‘dults approached. You read it?

Yes, sir.

How do you know letters and reading?

Daryn scratched the ground with her toe. I found a book that helped me learn.

The elder turned to the ‘dult. Leave her be. She’s relearning a lost art. She’ll bring great prosperity to the village.

The ‘dult nodded and went to speak to the others.

The littles circled her, wanting to hear more stories. Daryn shook her head. I need to read them first.

Teach us to read. The littles begged.

Daryn agreed. Reading is magic.