“Legend has it…”
A long time ago, there was a master storyteller. He could weave the threads of a story together as if on a loom. He had a huge library in his home, overflowing with tall tales and knowledge, and furnished with ancient wooden bookshelves and chairs with velvet cushions. His name was Legend, and he was the keeper of all stories. One particular trait that Legend had was that he liked to exaggerate all of his stories, in order to entertain young children. He told stories of turtles without shells and clouds made of cotton candy, which delighted all of the small children. He played with them, letting them stroke his long fluffy white beard and even allowing the girls to braid it. Legend was calm and gentle and extremely patient.
Legend was also incredibly organized but not very well guarded for all the attention he was given. One day, a group of people came to his house, pounding on his thin wooden door and demanding that he change his stories. In their opinion, his stories sounded too much like a lesson and not enough like a pleasant story that they wanted to hear.
Legend muttered to himself, “don’t they know that the point of legend is to teach a lesson? If there’s no moral, what’s the point? He closed his eyes, remaining silent, and eventually they left.
Nicer people than those would consistently come to his house and listen to his stories tirelessly, the children sometimes sitting for hours and begging for more. Legend wanted it to last forever.
And yet…time still passed. The children grew older and knew all of Legend’s stories, having heard them so many times. They stopped visiting his house and Legend grew old, tired and lonely. He longed for visitors and attention, but received none.
The children, now grown up and having their own kids, told Legend’s exaggerated stories to their young ones. More time went by and they forgot about Legend himself, but they kept his stories flowing into the minds of their children.
When Legend died, nobody stood by his side. Nobody gave him one last hug as he took his final breath. Everybody had forgotten about him. Legend was alone. All that remained of him were his amazingly told stories, still being told down year after year. However, as one child grew older, he also grew more and more curious about all the tall tales he loved to hear so much. He asked his mother, “Where did all of these stories come from?”
And his mother remembered. She remembered the hours of storytelling, sitting by the fire in Legend’s house and listening to the lull of his voice. She remembered falling asleep on Legend’s couch and waking up warm and snug in a thick white blanket. She remembered everything. “Legend,” she said, tears making her eyes glisten. “Legend had them all.”
The child grew up and told the same stories to his children, but now that he knew where they came from, he made sure to give Legend the credit he deserved. Legend was not forgotten after all. Now, whenever someone tells an exaggerated story, they say “Legend has it…” in remembrance of the beloved master of storytelling.