I had my story count wrong for a while- I’d been writing “Day 156” but luckily Michael corrected me: “Freya. Mate. 256.” Then he challenged me to write about all the lost stories.
Stories get lost all the time. If they are told and nobody else absorbs them, they go the world of lost words. I learnt this when I was told to a boy who didn’t speak English and wound up here. The words here are pretty tough. The most popular unheard stories usually band together. Two of the biggest word gangs are the unconfessed love group, and the teen poetry mob.
When I first moved here it was pretty depressing. There were so many unconfessed passions and half written novels. I’d spend most nights away from the cbd (where all the boring stories no-one ever listened to hang out). My favourite place was downtown, where a lot of the weird and wonderful fantasies gather. It was amusing at first but even this made me sad, there were so many unexplored passions and grotesque fetishes.
These days I’m not so worried. I’m friends with an impromptu car song, a story told by a child to his toy and words spoken to a deaf girl. Not all stories need to be heard, some definitely shouldn’t be heard, and the others? We’re here to appreciate them if they slip through the cracks.
By the way, I’ve painstakingly counted the words in every story since I started the challenge. In 258 Days I’ve written 32 155 Words and countless lost stories. I imagine they’re all hanging out together as I type this.