Hey, I'm a storyteller. Ask me a question, and I'll tell you a story.
My students keep telling me: Posch, you can never die.
Well, thanks, I accept the compliment. I've been around the maypole more than a few times, I'm good at what I do, and I know my stuff.
But I keep thinking about the poor seer who, when granted a boon by the gods, made the mistake of asking for eternal life. Unfortunately for her, they granted her request.
Alas, not even the wisest can see all ends.
Eternal life without eternal youth: who would want it?
Down the long years, she just got older and older, but she could never die. Eventually, she shriveled up like a cricket. Finally they hung her in a jug from the ceiling, and the little shits from the local village would come to the temple to taunt her.
“Seer, what do you want?” they would ask. “Seer, what do you want?”
Her answer was always the same.
“I just want to die,” she'd tell them.
So when they ask me (not entirely jestingly), How could we ever replace you? here's the story that I tell.
