Scrolls Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
The explorers found the remains of several temples and former
burial sites. The wise men were called in. Time, money, and resources were
dedicated so that the excavation could begin. Teams of men and women all
devoted to the same task – the search for ancient truth. There would surely be
revelations and never-before-seen artifacts to recover and analyze. The
historians watched with gleeful anticipation, expecting the discovery of new
and unheard truths. The wise men verified everything. They made sure all
precautions were taken in order to preserve each artifact that was found, and
that each artifact was then cataloged and recorded properly. They created a
timeline and an outline of what life must have been like.
The scrolls were a later discovery. The site had been so fruitful
that it expanded and the search continued in surrounding areas. A buried tomb
was uncovered. It seemed to be either a living quarters or a library of some
sort. There were the remnants of tools and tables and indications of
educational devices. And there were the scrolls. Carefully placed in a separate
box. They must have been important. Documents of the culture and the history of
the people that had been there.
The scrolls were translated and copied. They might have been the
most important of all the discoveries, for they were an actual indicator of
what life had been and what the society thought.
The wise men were all very excited.
Not everything made complete sense, but it was exciting and
revolutionary and answered so many unanswered questions. Everyone assumed that
with further exploration more artifacts would be discovered and the remaining
questions and incongruities would be filled in and explained. It was an
excellent foundation if nothing else. A place for further investigation to
begin.
There had once been a young man who wrote things down and locked
them away. He didn’t do it for fame or
for wealth. No one was paying him for his writing. None of his writings were
worth reading. No one took him seriously and so he didn’t share his writing
with them. He wrote because he enjoyed writing. He enjoyed the story telling
aspect of it all. He wrote to make himself happy. He wrote because his life was
boring and he wanted a life more interesting.
He invented religion, just not the right one. He invented history,
but not reality. He changed the names and the places and the people.
He told stories but that was all they were – stories. He never
thought about what other people would think of them. He had no idea if people
would know them or remember him or care about any of what he had done. He
certainly never supposed that people would mistake any of them for anything of actual
importance.
But time moved on, and while his name and his life were forgotten,
his scrolls remained. After he died, they were left behind, awaiting eventual
discovery, and because they had managed to survive the trials of time, they
would be regarded as important. Very important indeed.
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