Once you a time, there was a man who liked to make up stories. He liked it so much he did it all the time.
When he heard people talking, he would imagine what they meant and why they said it. When he saw clouds in the sky, he imagined rain coming.
Very often, he was the hero of his own stories. When the characters he had invented spoke to him, he would make up replies to advance his plot. With the fear of rain, he would carry an umbrella. Sometimes he got what he wanted and would call it a good story. Sometimes, he got wet and called it a bad story.
One day, he hit his head and lost his ability to make up stories.
All of a sudden, there were no more characters and he was no longer the hero. There was no more plot and no more story. Nothing was good or bad anymore. There was only the truth.
– – The beginning – –