According to my cup of coffee, stories are gifts. Ti's the Season after all.
The Christmas song radio station features heartwarming tales as a gift to its listeners.
But what about the evil stepsister to those stories. The stories that are weapons.
The stories that trap with their tar baby consistency? Where are those stories?
Where are the stories that slice you open and riddle you with bullets like cartoon characters under fire?
Some stories are intentional weapons. The stories that tell you how you are and how you will be. The stories that people use to trap you into roles and lives that you do not want. Those stories wielded by clever hands weave whole worlds with no escape hatches. They are often pretty but always deadly.
And then there are the accidental weapons. The kitchen knifes of stories. They are not mean to wound but they are role switchers. Going from harmless choppers of vegetables to stabbing tools extraordinaire. Yes funny stories from the past that make the whole family laugh and nod with familiarity even as they tear you up inside. They bring dormant feelings of insecurity and pain bubbling up with each carefully crafted sentenced.
Yes, stories are gifts but they are also weapons. They pierce us. They slay us. They slice us. If we think of them as only gifts we forget the deadly power that lies behind them.