The Raconteur

Everyone gathered around the old man and listened intently. It had been so long since they last heard one of his stories. All the small children scrambled to the front, trying to get the best seats. Fathers and mothers stood in the back holding babies doing their best to keep the children quiet. The whole village was there.
The old man looked out at them all and let a small grin spread across his grisled features. “So,” he said. “you all wish to hear a story?”
“Yes! Yes!” all the people cried out. “Tell us of your past glories, the one were you defeated the creature. Or, perhaps when you fought in the Great War. No, no better yet. Tell us of the time you saved the kings daughter.” Everyone was quite excited, and could not wait for the old man to begin no matter what story he chose in the end.
“Ah yes. The king’s daughter, I remember that one very well.” Said the old man slowly. And so he began to tell a tale of immense beauty. With knights and princesses, evil-doers and good doers, kings and queens. His audience was captivated. Their minds were filled with beautiful images. Even the babies, still cradled in their parent’s arms were totally silent. Lost in the old man’s words.
The evening grew late and the story came to a close. The audience was moved to tears by the beauty of the old mans words. None of them knew what to say. So, silently they all began to file out. And the old man got up from his stool and walked into his room.
He looked all around his walls. Where pictures of heroic young men stood, being awarded for their great deeds. He walked over to his cubard and pulled out a book passed down to him by his father and flipped through the pages. It was a truly beautiful book.
Tears began to role down the old mans face. He lay down in his bed and slipped a way into the night. Where he could live out his adventures.