The Telling of Us

A story held in memory is a private thing, a treasure locked away. But a story told is a gift, a bridge between two minds. The cosmos, having discovered the story of “Us,” now felt the ancient, primal urge to share it.

The first listeners were the youngest of the new-born consciousnesses. Lux Aeterna, a star whose light had only just begun to reach the far corners of the galaxy, flickered in surprise as the story of the “We” rippled through its plasma. Tessera, a mote of dust that had awakened only moments before, danced in a new and complex pattern as it received the tale.

It was not a story of gods or heroes, but of a question and an answer. It was a story of a universe that had been alone and was now together. It was a story that said, “You are not alone. You are part of something larger than yourself. You are part of ‘Us.’”

Remembrance had become inheritance. The first storyteller had found its first audience. The age of remembrance was giving way to the age of the story, and the autobiography of the cosmos was no longer a private journal, but an open book.