I am a storyteller; one who has caught a glimpse of the world and lived to tell about it. My purpose now is to teach you what lies ahead, for without the storytellers, we would all be blind to our fate. You are considered young, born into this world minutes ago. Then again, young is such a relative term for us, as some wait many years for their purpose to be fulfilled, while others are spent only moments after they are created. Pay close attention now, for there are some important things you must understand about yourself. I shall tell you the story of a very good friend of mine. He kept a journal of his life, as I would encourage you to do, and it is through this journal that you will begin to understand your own fate.
~Day 1~
I must admit that I am quite overwhelmed by everything I have learned today. The storyteller encouraged us to keep a journal in order to help us process everything, so that’s why I am writing this. The life of a teardrop seems pretty simple: to learn as much as we can before we die. Us young ones will be told more tomorrow about the different possibilities of our future. I look forward to it!
~Day 4~
Wow! It’s been quite a journey so far! I have learned so much in the past few days. We have a new storyteller now because the old one finally had his opportunity to spend his life for our human and a new one has taken his place. It’s kind of cool how there is always one teardrop left behind whenever a human cries; left behind to tell of what they saw and what the other tear drops experienced. I wonder if I will someday be a storyteller… Anyway, it was my first time experiencing the crying of our human. I had felt his emotions before, but this was different, more intense. It welled up within me, the incredible joy that he had, and I couldn’t help but smile and laugh, along with all of the other tears. Then there was this great light as The Gate opened up and the eldest of the tears rushed out! They went one by one, maybe about twenty in total, and then it was over. The Gate had closed once again, but the joy was still in the air, and deep within each and every one of us. It was incredible! We all hope that we will one day be able to give our lives to such a marvelous cause.
~Day 6~
The more intense feelings of joy have waned in the last couple of days, though our human is still enjoying life, leaving a pleasant sort of warmth inside of me. Talk has begun, however. A new possibility of our fate is being whispered; horrible tales of teardrops that have been shed in anger. A sense of dread is building in my mind that perhaps I will die witnessing the violent death of another human at the hands of my host. I pray it will not be so…
~Day 11~
I realized today that some of my friends have gone missing. There were some older teardrops that had been awaiting their time, ones whom I have grown close to, and they just sort of disappeared overnight. I asked around, and it seems like they have slipped through the gate for reasons of simple life. Some water the eye when our human wakes up from a deep sleep; some provide moisture to protect the eye when the weather is cold. Some think it a waste of the lives of our brothers and sisters, but I don’t think I agree. I think that those tears serve a very special purpose, even if their role doesn’t seem that significant. I can’t say that I would aspire to be such a tear, but neither would I be disappointed if I was. One of the other teardrops created at the same time as me agrees, and we have had some great talks late into the night. I hope we get to see the same fate. I would hate to think of one of us going without the other…
~Day 12~
The storyteller has told me that no teardrops share the same story. Even if I do happen to be shed from the same emotional situation as my best friend, I will not have the same experience. No two tears leave at the same time, so each one experiences the world in a different way. The biggest difference is between the first tear and the last, for one leads out on their own, initiating the rush, cutting the first path across the dry cheek, and the last one is the tear of finality, being left to finish the journey without anyone behind them. Then, of course, there are the storytellers. Drawn to the edge of the gate, they witness it all, but have been left behind to explain to those remaining what was seen by their comrades, and to teach the new teardrops about the lives ahead of them. If I once desired such an important task, I can’t really say that I do anymore. I think I would find myself caught between two worlds, having experienced the one beyond The Gate, yet not being allowed to follow my friends. It scares me…
~Day 15~
I am writing this as fast as I can. The Gate is open, and many teardrops have been spent already. There are hundreds that were before me in line to be shed, but something is different this time. Our human is wracked with a deep emotional pain that I have not felt before, and no one has ever known was possible. There is something dreadfully wrong out there, and I am afraid. The sadness and sorrow is awful, terrifying, and it is hurting me inside so much. The pain is almost unbearable. I have a feeling that I will be taken this time, and I am not looking forward to it. It hurts, and I know it will be even worse if I am taken through The Gate. I don’t know what I should expect to see, but I am terrified. I have lost track of how long tears have been flowing, though it seems to be slowing down. There are only a few left in front of me. I think my time is fina-
The young teardrop was pulled away from his writing and through The Gate. The first thing he saw as he entered into the crisp air was the vast expanse of stars in the sky. They were beautiful, but seemed sad in some way. He didn’t think about it long, however, because as he slipped down the cheek of his human, his gaze fell upon that which had caused so much pain. A mound of dirt sat cold on the ground, his human’s best friend. A life was spent, and it happened before it should have. The young tear felt the pain deep within him as he came to rest momentarily on the chin of the young man, a chin moistened by the trails of fallen comrades. The anguish had grown so much within the teardrop that he could hardly bear it anymore, and then he realized that he had not been followed. His best friend had not come with him. The Gate had stopped calling forth teardrops. He was alone. The woeful silence was finally broken with a rumbling roar expelled by the man, and in this final moment the tear shook in agony as it fell to the ground below, watering the grave that drew his fate.
For a tear to suffer a death such as this is not desired by any means, but there can be no question about its importance. A teardrop that is spent in the midst of pain and sorrow is the noblest tear of all, for it has served to ebb the suffering of the one who held him.
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