THERE ARE SOME STORIES that linger on the periphery of the mind. There are some stories that make the nature of telling a complicated web of deceit, for while stories told over and over become reduced and calcified, they are also misheard and sometimes confused with other tales. And sometimes the tales are purposefully manipulated such that the dark parts that might induce heavy feelings go untold.

Why did the people of once long ago not tell stories aloud? Why did they tell them to The Page? their daughters would ask, usually in autumn, for autumn is the season of girls.

The fathers would look at their girls with a jealous kind of longing, admiring their desire to know. The Page was the conduit for distributing story. It was the way a single tale could be accessed by several thinkers in different places all at once. One could train The Page to do what one needed it to do. For example, it could make one cry.

But if it was just a bit of paper, a layer of dangerous tree lace with symbols, how did this occur?

An excellent question, the fathers would say, and gently pinch their chins. The symbols held a certain kind of power that could make one forget. This was how The Page would trick one into believing certain events had actually come to pass.

Just as the fathers began to think of other things, the girls would ask: How does the ice girl’s story end?

The fathers would look directly into their eyes. The fathers would recall the first time they held their daughters, and they would think of how the daughter body releases the soft smell of heat. The end can’t be revealed until you’re older.

The daughters would not object. Because the fathers told them when they were very young that time is a factory and age the product of the factory’s toil. So the daughters knew as small children that wishing to grow up swiftly was a venture as senseless as hoping for a weatherless day.

The girls would reach for their fathers’ hands, thinking silently that they were glad they were born after The Touch Wars.