Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to sit down on his fat rump and write something for a change. That’s all fine and dandy, but how’s about you come on over to say hello to the populace, j0nn0.

Huh? What’s that you say? You don’t intend to actually say anything and want me to represent you, or rather, a partial view of you as the front in a slightly obscure cameo within some digitally released publication and provide a filler article composed of fluff and little to no tangible content for the readers to enjoy?

Eh, whatever. Let’s get this show on the road. It’s not like you’re going to bother writing for any of your actual stories anyways. Go back to studying or something and make that college education worth your money.

So, what do we have here? Write Way Magazine? A story perhaps? No, that can’t be. If it were a story, I, as the Narrator, would play an integral part in its telling, even if I were not to be officially recognized as such. (You do know how narrators work, right? If not, I’ll leave you to brush up on your literary terms.) Hmm… Give me a sec to pull up their blurb, or is it called a synopsis now/again/not-again? I can never tell what’s the trending term these days. Anyways:

“Write Way Magazine is a weekly publication aiming to bring articles, short-stories, news, and editorial pieces related to web fiction, to you, the readers. The world of web fiction has grown over the years yet it is not serviced by mainstream literary magazines or journals, a hole Write Way Magazine intends to fill. To submit an article, please send WhoCares a message over RRl or Discord.

I guess this entry would fall under the “editorial pieces” category. Now that I take a moment to think about it, what is my topic for this editorial piece, j0nn0?

...j0nn0? Hello?

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

Darn. He left me hanging. I guess I’ll just wing it or ask WhoCares for some prompting, but considering his username, Who Cares! Where was I again?

“Picking a topic for the editorial piece,” a random rock whispers to me.

Why thank you, random rock who just so happens to be able to talk for no apparent reason other than to provide a continuation point for this disjointed, jumbled, scattered, derailed train of thought. Let’s see… The history or WriTE, my origins as The Narrator, potatoes, RRL’s progress since circa 2014, the discord channel, more potatoes? Nah, too boring.

Errr, yeah. Okay. I got noth’n. Maybe the article title j0nn0 provided for me may be of service.

“(A) Narrator’s Impromptu Fluff Filler Piece for Write Way Magazine”

…

Smooth j0nn0. Smooth. That just about dashed that plan. I think I’ll just write a little short story after all. As with any good story, we must begin with…

Once upon a time, there lived a little rock. Coarse, banded white, brown, and black, roughly the size of a closed fist, it stuck out like a sore thumb in the dry desert, for its only companions were the the skies above, earth below, and scattered clumps of sandstone.

Each day, the sun would bear down upon its small form, baking it to the extreme, while at night it would be kissed by the moon’s rays and caressed by the frigid air. The stars above would stand vigil on those dark nights when the moon was absent. It was a peaceful existence, but a solitary one.

The years would pass one by one, blurring away with the passage of time. Around it, its neighbors, the sandstone, would wear away to fill the sands and the sands themselves would wear away to give form to canyons. All the while, the little fist sized rock remained unchanged.

Eventually, the little rock began to question itself, then question its surroundings.

“Why am I?” it would ask the blue sky.

“Because,” its winds would whisper.

“Where am I?” it would ask the sands.

“In the desert,” they would reply.

“What am I?” it would ask the moon.

“A piece of schist,” the soft light would spell.

And so it existed, content in its own existence.

The end.

…

What? You expected something more? You’re barking up the wrong tree, buddy. Go read Just A Rock by Vocaloid if you want to read more on rocks and their environments.

Narrator signing off. Peace!