The Storyteller: Change is Good (Ch. 1, Part 1)

This is a long story. The kind of story that seems to bend time until you forget your troubles and exhaustion. You forget you have to be at work at seven o’clock the next morning. You forget that any other world exists beyond the one this story presents.

But stories must end, and when you wake up you’ll go to work as though nothing happened. 

But this is the kind of story you will keep coming back to; you will keep losing yourself in that world every day, even though you know it is all just an illusion.

I know because I’ve been there; I created this world; I wrote this story.

As the storyteller, I am responsible for every life and every death. I am responsible for every act of heroism and every deception. Everything from the joy you feel when two lovers embrace to the pain you feel when a character dies is strategic and planned.

I use the excuse that it is all just an illusion; it is all just a dream. But do the choices we make in our dreams have no bearing on our lives? And are not the choices we make in our lives reflected in our dreams?

If this is true, then I am a murderer; I am a liar; I am a thief. I am a monster.

And yet I must tell you my story in the hope that you will judge me as kindly as I was by the heroes I killed. I must tell you my story because it is my one hope at redemption.

I must tell you my story because I am a Storyteller.

Chapter 1: Change is Good

Sir Gregory’s men stand fast at the bough of the ship, preparing for the final assault on the Freedom; the pirate ship holding Anne captive.

Two months this weary chase has dragged on, and finally we have the chance to save her. I stand by, watching, documenting everything that happens.

The pirates have nowhere left to turn; Captain Jonas at the helm prepares the crew for battle. As we near, I can see the pirates have bound Anne to the mast in plain view, her screams muffled by a rough gag. Her lover, Sir Gregory eagerly urges the captain to close the distance, yet I can only wonder why we have seen no sign of the pirates themselves yet.

I see the pirate captain come up on deck from his quarters; desperate, starved, and worn from running, he tiredly limps to where Anne is bound. Leaning against the mast, he stands silently waiting to greet us, alone and unarmed.

We’ve come alongside and the boarding team swung eagerly across to capture the worn ship. From my vantage point, I can see the bodies of the pirates littered across the deck, evidence of a mutiny which backfired. Only Edward, captain of the pirate’s remains, staring into the eyes of his childhood friend and comrade, Captain Douglas.

Sir Gregory approaches the gaunt and feeble man who, only a shadow of the great and powerful pirate captain he once was can barely stand with the mast as his support. Wounds mark him from head to foot, trophies from his fight with his mutinous crew, and death’s door seems to be calling him away from this world.

“Sir Gregory, I’d not hoped to see your face again;” the beaten pirate wheezes, ignoring the trickling blood winding it’s way down his face.

“Not soon enough,” Sir Gregory answers, aiming his gun at the pirate captain’s forehead; “my dear Anne has suffered much already.”

“Aye, well she’s yours now; I haven’t harmed her. I only wish I’d chosen a better and less loved hostage for my escape.”

“There is no more escape for you, Edward; be there any harm done to her, your death will be ten times slower.”

Sir Gregory’s companions have untied Anne and she clings desperately to Gregory. They whisper to each other words of assurance, and it is clear that not only is she unharmed, but in surprisingly good health.

Sir Gregory turns to the pirate, regarding him with something bordering respect; “It seems your word is true; she is unharmed, and tells me you stood between her and those men of yours desiring her end.”

“I may be a dishonest man, but I always keep my word;” Captain Edward straightens as best he can, his pride returning.

“My promise that she would not be harmed has been kept. I have accepted my fate, now allow me the chance to sink my ship; I’ll not have my Freedom taken captive.”

“It is yours no longer; the Freedom is a fine ship, and will be taken back and refitted for use in the royal navy.” Sir Gregory replies.

Captain Edward looks shocked; outraged; “I’ll not see my Freedom made slave to your crown!”

The pirate captain reaches inside his coat, but Sir Gregory has his pistol ready.

“You won’t.”

I wince as Sir Gregory fires a bullet straight through Captain Edward’s heart. The pirate falls to the deck, his hand clutching the ring he had stolen the day they had first encountered each other; the Queen’s ring. The impact jars the ring loose, sending it bouncing across the deck and overboard into the water.

The flash of light woke me from my sleep, and it took me a moment to realize that it was the morning light seeping through my window and not the sparkle of a diamond ring.

I reached for my glasses and checked the clock; 7:36, same as always.

It was a part of my life I had come to accept; no matter how long my dreams ran, I always woke at 7:36. I could never be roused earlier, and sleep would always evade me until the following evening. Over time this had become central to my daily life.

I swung my feet off the bed, and let the cold of the hardwood floor in my apartment bedroom wake me fully. I stood with a sigh and went straight for my workstation.

My manuscript lay open to the last blank pages. It was a recording of the events following the theft of the Queen’s ring by pirate Captain Edward. The story was very nearly complete; only one more night remaining before it could be presented to a publisher.

“Three years;” I muttered aloud to myself, casually flipping through the pages of the manuscript.

Three years I had been writing, but it remained a tough occupation, especially when it came to finding a publisher who was interested in my work. I had a nine o’clock appointment with a publisher, so I saved reviewing my work for later and moved to prepare for this important meeting. My previous publisher had severed ties with me, so it was important that this meeting went well, especially with my current book nearly finished.

I took a shower and dried off with a t-shirt, only to realize I had no clean clothes left. With my writing consuming so much time, I hadn't stopped to think about laundry. Cursing my laziness, I dug up a relatively clean collared shirt and a pair of once-blue jeans and quickly dressed.