The Storyteller

His mouth was like a shaken soda can, his words the bubbles slowly rising to the top. He would try to hold his words in, try to hold back the bubbles, but they would rise to the top and fizz, exploding out of his mouth. It would begin with a thought, the hand that shook the soda, then the words would slowly rise, and stories would explode out of this mouth. Sometimes they were long and sad, some were short and funny, and some were grand adventures of noble heroes. Why would he try to hold this creative greatness back? What could possibly make somebody not want to share this gift of storytelling with the world?
Usually, the bubbles burst during Social Studies. Which would lead a teacher (Or demons, as he thought of them) to sentence him to the principal's office. (Or the devil's lair.)