Measured by our past, we are unremarkable. Nothing ever happens here. Nothing. The seasons turn over at the usual pace. We plant in the spring, harvest in the fall, generally spend our days doing chores that make the planting possible and the harvest sufficient.
But there was that one strange traveler.
Came wandering through, he did. Never said where he was from. Never said where he was going. Now that I think about it, he never said his name, either.
He was uncanny, though. He knew things, secret things. He never really revealed his secrets, just hinted at enough that people knew their secret had been found out. This did not exactly endear him to us.
So it came to pass one day, that the town rose up as one without fear and acted to make it certain that we would never be used as any clever man’s puppets. The next day, it was as if he had never been.
What stranger? No, not here. Not us.
We are careful now. We must think about our futures. He was never here. If he was, he was unremarkable and we took no notice, he moved one. One story is as good as another, but we must decide which is true, and make sure that all agree and remember the same truths to any who might come looking in the future.