Once upon a time, a story thought it might begin.
   This story was named Story, and it was _so_ excited about beginning.
   It's introduction was starting like great ball of fire creeping over an
   immense mountain.  All the animals were rushing out of their beds,
   singing about what a wonderful day of work they were going to have, and
   Story was rushing up too, singing with them.
   How might this Story start?  "Once upon a time" ?  Something scary?
   Something idealistic?  Something surprising or mundane?
   Story ran through all the options, trying here, trying there.  Story
   visited a celebrating woodchuck, getting ready to dig their hole more,
   an office worker rushing into their car to drive to work, a flower
   wrenching its petals open to show them for the rest of the day, and a
   hobbyist getting everything into place for a project they had.
   Story knew what to do.  Story was going to tell their own story.  Not a
   copy from anyone else.  It was time for a story that had no limits at
   all.
   Story sat down with a listener and began telling their story.  The
   story and the listener were so excited to begin.
   Story leant forward towards Listener.  Other listeners nearby noticed
   and began moving towards the two, also wanting to hear.  Some would
   run, some would call others over.
   "This story is new," said Story.
   The crowd listened.
   "Some stories are guided by ideas, by storytellers.  But I am my own
   Story.  I have --"
   --
   Apologies.  Handling something.
   Here's an inner dialog:
   "Why is your story about freedom, focused on _avoiding_ talking about
   anything?"
    "I have a lot of inhibition right now and wanted to do something
   easy."
    "Hmm.  I might usually accept that, but I'm considering ... actually
   never mind."
    Pausing.