The Records of Life

Somewhat written in response to a post by my friend;

Each and every person a story.

Indeed, the writers were the first to notice.

Stories are like living things, I think Terry Pratchett was the first to make the allusion. And it is through us humans, that stories breed and come. Humans are stories, and stories, at least the very best of them, are always then and before, beautifully, incredibly, unchangelebly human.

And somewhere, out there, I heard a story. A fictional story perhaps. But nontheless one that rings in my heart.

It was set within the world of fantasy. Of dragons, knights, heroes and demons. Of great exploits and champions that all the bards would sing of for years and centuries to come.

All bards but one.

To quote from the writer, to quote from this bard - "As always I must travel, as always, I must remember. When the fallen warrior breathes his last breath, where the farmer protects his beaten horse, where the child cries out for a mother's arms, I will be there and not, and as always, it is my duty to remember.

For I am the Bard of Forgotten Tales, and Lost Stories never told. It is my duty to remember the quests never seen, the fights never heard, and the treasures never sought. In a land of champions, of men whose names are sung forever in song, the thousands, no millions, of names I shall remember.

For I am the Keeper of Forgotten Tales, and forever it remains my duty to remember."

Romanticised somewhat, I would say. But in a way, it parallels what we have.

Who said these books are not being read? How many actual books are really read?

The average person reads less than 5% of all the books published. Some much less.

Yet everytime to talk to these people, to your friends, your family, your teacher, student, college, boss. Your soulmate, neighbour, pastor, priest. Your pen pal, classmate and many more beside. Each time you talk to them, you remember.

You remember that chapter of their life.

And if one were to take all the people that man has met, all his acquaintences and friends, his family and the people he bumped into the street, take all of them and extract their memories with but him in it, they will find a picture, overlaping sometimes, stretching sometimes, but always a full picture, a description - a story; of his life and the people around him as well.

And in that way, I would suppose, all of us are Bards of Remembering, Keepers of the Forgotten Lore.

For us, ourselves, and the people as well.