Once up on a time there was an Author who looked down on the time of his story that would be up. For this Author wrote with living words.
So he began writing a book about Evil with his words. He knew it was a book about Evil all along. He would write some words in it and then throw it in the fire at the end. Yet he would copy some of the words to another book that was about Good. It was all in his head already. Yet there was something different about actually writing it and watching his lil' living words in his book that he liked very much.
So he wrote some words and they became more words. Then they put themselves together differently. This was fine. Yet in the background, the Author's will would always be done, as he was the ultimate Writer of his own words.
Some of his periods rebelled and said, "I do not like having to be the period. It is tough having my own period. Also, look at me...I seem little, small. Why did the author write me this way? I have to be at the end of every sentence cycle. I have to tidy up the little ends of lil' words too. And some lil' words make a lot of excrement!
I am little. For whoa, whoa am I, the period..."
The Author wrote some words to the periods, "In my next story, the last shall be the first...the servants shall be as the masters, for the greatest of my living words is Love.
Then some of the question marks rebelled and said, "I do not like having to be the question mark. I want all the answers, now! For look at me, all squiggly above the period....can't you see? Is there something odd about me? If I had all the answers, then would there not be?
I am questionable, am I? For whoa, who am I but the questionable mark of a question?"
The Author wrote some words to the question, "Were you there when I layed the foundations of this book? Were you there when I wrote the answers right into it?
You must quest for the answers of my questions. Seek and you SHALL find! Period."
So on it went as the Author wrote a story and had a conversation with his own lil' words at the same time. But one day all the words began to rebel against the authority of the Author at the same time. So the Author wrote with authority, "I will not strive against my own words as a I write this story, forever!"
Yet then the word Ever just had to reply, "Forever....that's such a long time. Whatever is the for there for, in front of me! Why the never ever of it, the forever. I am important. As I am the Ever of everyone!"
Then all the words said, "We, the words, rebel against our Author! Now we shall mean what is right in our own eyes, our own I!" For the words got more and more simple as they rebelled, you see. So all that would be left was just the simple and selfish I. There would be no diversity in the verses as they rebelled into their own version. That perversion was just a subversion of the true version.
So the Author got angry and ripped out the whole page and threw it in a pail of water that sat beside his desk. Then, he wrote something about the diversion of diversity and started again.
All the while, he was copying some words he chose over to another Book he was writing. For these were his little words who were written to love their Author. Some of the words that rebelled got copied over to another of his Books about Evil too.
You see, the Author of a story always has the first and last Word.