The story lies in wait in the shadows of the collective unconscious. It devours the lesser archetypes, as amoral as DNA, and waits with biblical, bibliographical patience for its time to come again.
When those who first gave it life are long since marble busts and faded frescoes, it is summoned again. On portable computers in coffee shops and in the quieter corners of bookstores, it resurfaces in the psyche, and takes on new life.
It hides itself in cast-off thoughts and comforting illusions, and sets its nets for unguarded minds. Hungry, like all things, to survive.
When those who first gave it life are long since marble busts and faded frescoes, it is summoned again. On portable computers in coffee shops and in the quieter corners of bookstores, it resurfaces in the psyche, and takes on new life.
It hides itself in cast-off thoughts and comforting illusions, and sets its nets for unguarded minds. Hungry, like all things, to survive.
Very Pratchett.
ReplyDeleteAh, like Hogfather maybe? One of my favorite Pratchett stories. Only wish mine were as good. Can't help but think his version would be funnier ... and have more orangutans.
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