One Final Story

Author's Disclaimer:  This is a work of fiction and fantasy, and is in no way meant to suggest the subject of the story required such supernatural means to achieve his literary prowess.


Written for and submitted to the

SURVEY

What a Character! : Official WDC Contest  (E) Create a memorable character using the given prompt for huge prizes! #1679316 by Writing.Com Support

.

I am mighty.

Perhaps even mightier than the sword ... or so 'tis said.  From the dawn of time when mankind first developed language, he has strived to record his life, his needs, wants, desires, and his histories.  The first sayers, storytellers, shamans--whatever their titles--used language to transport those in their small circle beyond the bounds of a meager existence.

Rare were the individuals who could captivate their tribes through the spoken word; they were held in high esteem within society.  Stories of great deeds and overcoming adversity by members of their tribe were told around countless campfires.  These tales fostered a sense of self-worth within the tribe and inspired young men to reach for more.  Then, by design or accident, a spark of inspiration gave man the ability to record his utterings, to write down his stories in a permanent form.  No longer would stories be subtly altered in the telling and re-telling passed down through countless generations.  No longer would the history of one peoples be wiped out through an unfortunate accident.

I was fashioned eons ago from a small branch of the Tree of Knowledge.  Beginning my journey as a stylus, I was imbued with the ability to make both dreams and nightmares real in the minds of man as he scratched rudimentary marks on tablets of soft clay.  Over these many years, my essence has flowed from one writing instrument to another, resting now in this antique fountain pen.  Through contact I've inspired many men and women to write down thoughts of life, always under the guise of effecting a positive change in the human condition.  At least, that was my fervent hope.  Free will, however, ensures that mankind will not always reap positive benefits of the written word. 

As the fates decreed, I found myself in the possession of one Anna Rachel Berman Ozimov, who was soon to give birth to her first child.  She'd found me in a small shop in Petrovichi in the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic.  I'd not felt this level of excitement for centuries.  Anna displayed considerable courage and faith as she laid the sum requested by the shopkeeper on the stained desktop.  That she had dreams I might help fulfill was never in doubt.  But I was soon to discover that help was to be manifest in a way neither of us had foreseen.

Anna and her small family moved to America three years later, taking up residence in the crowded tenements of Brooklyn.  The move, two young children and a new life left Anna precious little time for herself.  She saw something special in her first-born, a son named Isaac.  I gently nurtured a desire for knowledge in young Isaac, a thirst that would be unquenchable throughout his life. 

A sickly lad, Isaac was rarely allowed to play with the other children, the fits of coughing that resulted from the most minor exertions would place him in bed for several days.  Yet, young Isaac had an extraordinary drive within; he taught himself to read when he was only five.  With a vivid imagination and a penchant for reading pulp magazines of the time, particularly science fiction, it was natural that Isaac would soon turn to writing.  Anna presented me to Isaac on his eleventh birthday embarking on a career that would span more than six decades.  From the first time Isaac picked me up, I felt a kinship like no other in all my existence. 

Isaac's mind was a wonder to behold.  In truth, once the gates of storytelling were opened, I seldom exercised my special abilities but for a nudge here and a touch there.  Isaac was a man particularly suited for the delight and betterment of mankind.  No genre or writing classification was exempt from his purview.  Once he became fascinated with a subject, he turned his great intellect to the herculean task of researching, organizing and explaining that topic to the rest of his fellow man.

He became one of the most prolific writers of all time, with works that have been published in all ten categories of the Dewey Decimal System.  Despite his acknowledged supremacy in science fiction, Isaac demonstrated an expertise that transcended any topic to which he turned his mind--mysteries, fantasies, the hard sciences, even the works of William Shakespeare and the Bible were readily explained to the masses.

What began as a means of providing a palatable existence to a young boy of slight stature and poor health, resulted in the enrichment of all mankind.  Here was a person having a strong interest in or concern for human welfare, values, and dignity.  For a short period, I'd found a student who needed me as much as I needed him.  Together Isaac Asimov and I showed the world the importance for our eternal quest for knowledge, and the fulfillment of a dream older than man himself.

Not bad for a small branch from the Tree of Knowledge.

Word Count:  862