We as Characters of Narratives

Each of us is born the main persona in the narrative of his or her own life. Through ever-changing atmosphere, supporting characters and diversity of settings, we help to mold the rising action of our own tale. A great variety of characters abound in our stories. Some of them, bright pennies tossed into existence, spin wildly on exploits which make for the most gripping of preliminary chapters. However, their denouement is hard to guess. Others, silver dollar, sparkle too, but in a much less compromising way. I suppose most of us could fit into that category. Giddily we dance through early life’s events. Then on and on we go, unraveling our plot, striving always for happily-ever-afters. A smaller group, Olympian, glide like skaters on ice. Not only blessed, they are also driven. Their chronicles inspire us; they are gold! Others, although colorful, when held up to the light, they are shown as counterfeit, the perpetrators of pure fiction. A few, by fate and nature not so blessed, may court insanity, or at the very least, create confusion with their crises that seem to come unceasingly yet often fail to find resolution. Possibly, if given a good polishing, they could be diamonds in the rough! There are others who are the spawn of a society gone wrong. They stalk our paths, as unfeeling as assassins. The pages from their lives can horrify. However, those who wield great power are also often morally corrupt, and if their stories live on, it’s in infamy only. These types of souls are nothing but cold, hard cash, and paper burns or crumbles in the end. A final group is joyless. Given something . . . giving nothing back, they hoard the talents God gifted them. They wonder woefully why no one wants to open their books to even read the parts that once had held some promise. For them it would be better to have been a rusting copper penny in dread of its own conclusion than even an evil-doer whose story titillates and at least gets read.