Monday, July 16, 2012

Is that a true story?

I tell stories in a socially-deprived area which is another way of saying the cats travel in pairs around this place at night.
A warning bell should have gone off when I took a call on Monday asking if I was free on Wednesday?
I said let me check my diary, the one I cannot find for weeks on end; finally I say: yes I am.
On Wednesday I replace a puppeteer who doe not answer her phone after last week's visit to this summer camp.
None are aged more than 12 years chronologically but all are aeons old in street smarts.
Out go the cute stories; cosy romances pass them by, others follow until one says she wants to hear stories that are "gross"
This girl could wrestle a weightlifter to the ground and win.

So, I tell 'em the story of the boy who is called out at night in country-darkness to help carry a coffin.
Yes and he is to be the corpse.
I tell, they listen with intent; I wrap it up and tell a few more tiny stories that stand the test of time, mostly about fools besting wise men.
Finished, I prepare to leave when the wrestler sidles up, and without speaking tells me she wants to ask a question.
I say what? She asks in a low voice with eyes darting around for eavesdroppers, if that was a true story? I ask her what she thinks? She says she does not know; I say if she thinks it's true then maybe it's true for her?
I suggest she tells it to a few pals and see what happens. She says yes and walks away a storyteller.
I leave and wonder what happened to the puppet person?
Storytelling here

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