FICTION
In A World With Too Many Words, Meet Bob
Bob is going to try and save the world
The world faces a global crisis. There are too many words.
Or to be more specific, there is too much weight from all these words. And it is beginning to tilt the world off its axis.
This world of words was once a beautiful and magical place. A sanctuary for those seeking an escape from the digital cacophony and a temple for those cherishing the written language.
But alas, all good things must come to an end.
Once word got out about this paradise, writers began to flock from near and far.
It started with the artists that fancied themselves sensitive souls, their hearts on their sleeves. With no intention of defiling the natural landscape, they settled in and began pouring their hearts and souls out, sharing the weight of their emotions with the world.
Then came the content creators who wanted to improve the place with their catchy headlines and writing courses. If they could discover and live this lifestyle, anyone else could too, and they’d break it down into simple to understand listicles and how-to guides.
Lastly but most damagingly, came the tweeters with their 280 character limit. For what they lacked in length, they made up for in volume. For what they lacked in artistry, they made up for with speed.
Soon, there were too many words and the world could not carry the weight of it all on her shoulders. What once was an escape from the digital cacophony became a cacophony itself.
Long words and short words. Big words and little words. Happy words and angry words.
And yet the words kept coming. Not just continuing but increasing in pace. Words pouring out into the world with the torrential power of a waterfall, the mercilessness of an earthquake, and the urgency of a volcano.
Bold words and shy words. Sophisticated words and childish words. Experienced words and new words.
It was too much. The world could not bear it all by herself. Seeing no escape from the weight of these words, she decided it was time to stop fighting — to stop being strong and to let things take their natural course, whatever that may be.
In this world with too many words, meet Bob.
Bob doesn’t remember how he was born into this world of words. But he’s generally quite happy with the cards he’s been dealt in life.
He recognizes that he holds a certain level of privilege. After all, he is a proper noun and not all words can claim that. To boot, he’s also a palindrome which grants him automatic access to the VIW (Very Important Word) club.
Bob doesn’t think he’s asking for too much in life. All he wants is to be read and cherished. Recognized for who and what he is.
He knows that he’s pleasant on the palette to pronounce. “Bob” just rolls off the tongue. A single cheerful syllable like a delicate champagne bubble.
But today, Bob is not cheerful. Bob is worried.
Bob is worried about the future of his world. He knows that something must be done but he doesn’t know what. A short three-letter word like him — what can he do to save the world? Could he possibly help lift the weight from all these words off the world?
First, Bob tried talking to the tweeters.
Their individual tweets, while short, were quickly piling up and Bob could see that they were outweighing the words of the content creators and the artists.
Taking a deep breath, Bob pulled up his socks and began his journey to the mountain of tweets. At the foot of the mountain, he passed some ancient tweets that lay long forgotten, forever entombed in their ancient 140 character limit.
Halfway up the mountain, he passed by the ruins of the notorious Twitter Wars he’d learned about in school. Barbed lashes and toxic words of hatred were left strewn throughout the remnants of the battlefield. Tiptoeing his way through these shells of words, Bob held his breath, afraid to breathe in their poisonous fumes.
As he spotted the summit, he could just barely make out the silhouettes of the tweeters. Excitedly, he picked his pace.
He was making good progress when he heard a low rumble coming from the mountain itself. Abruptly, he realized that this was no mere mountain he’d be climbing. This was a volcano and it was starting to show signs of activity.
Ash and debris from deleted tweets began to rain down on him. It started off light and pillowy but was becoming heavier with each step that Bob took. Soon he found himself dodging loosely hurled tweets that were being thrown down. He knew these weren’t aimed for him but nevertheless, he risked being collateral damage.
So many tweets, so many words! All adding more weight to the heavy burden the world was already carrying. And for what purpose? Bob did not know.
If he made it to the top, he’d plea his case and ask the tweeters to please stop.
Bob was so busy framing his plea that he missed a step, tripped, and, before he could catch himself, was slipping down the steep slope. He tried to dig his feet in but it barely slowed his descent. These wars of words had created a slippery slide and soon he was tumbling down.
All too soon, he found himself back at the base of the volcano. Brushing himself off, he looked up forlornly at the mountain he’d just failed to climb. With a sigh, Bob hoped that he’d have better luck with the content creators.
Bob made his way to a chain of tropical islands. He’d heard it was favored by the content creators for its pristine clear waters and white sandy beaches.
Paddling up to the first island, Bob looked around but it appeared to be uninhabited. Moving on to the second island, he again found no one.
By the third island, Bob wondered if this was just a wild goose chase. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed a piece of paper buried in the sand. He picked it up, curious.
It was an advertisement. “Sign up for my free five-day writing course!” it read. Bob knew that the content creators had been here recently.
Spurred on by his new find, he paddled enthusiastically to the fourth island. As he made his way to shore, he heard something — voices caught in the wind.
He couldn’t make out everything, but he thought he heard the words “stats” and “algorithms”. Excitedly, he ran to the middle of the island, ready to plead his case.
All of a sudden, his legs began to shake. Confused, Bob thought he’d pushed himself too hard and needed to rest. But after he sat down, the tremors didn’t stop. Instead, they only got stronger.
Looking around, Bob realized that it wasn’t him. The whole ground was shaking. The palm trees were swaying. The birds were fleeing.
It was an earthquake. Somehow, the content creators had triggered an earthquake and now Bob was caught in the middle of it.
Not know what to else to do, Bob quickly got to his feet and tried to find cover. He’d taken only a few steps further inland when he was paused. Exactly what cover was there on a small island like this?
A second tremor hit, stronger than the first, and it knocked Bob to the ground. A few coconuts dropped from the nearby trees and landed next him. With that, Bob decided he didn’t need cover — he needed open space.
He was almost back to his little canoe when he heard the sound of a motor. He turned and saw a boat full of content creators, hastily escaping from the island. Even in their flight, they continued to shorthand how-to guides, documenting their escape from an earthquake so others could learn from it.
Bob tried to wave them down and catch their attention but it was a lost cause. Soon they were out of sight, lost on the horizon and all Bob could do was wait out remainder of the earthquake.
Having failed with the tweeters and the content creators, Bob knew his last hope was the artists. He thought that maybe, with their sensitive souls, the artists would be empathetic to his attempt to save the world.
Trekking his way deep into the jungle, he followed his compass and kept his ears peeled for the sound of trickling water. He’d heard that the artists were fond of picturesque bodies of water.
It didn’t take him long to find a stream, gurgling happily to itself. Bob followed it upstream and discovered a beautiful lagoon with a cascading waterfall.
There, as the base of the waterfall, were the artists that Bob was looking for.
Bob tried to walk to them but every land path he attempted was a dead end. Not knowing what else he could do, Bob shrugged and decided he better start swimming. The lagoon’s waters looked calm and tranquil enough for him to manage.
Entering the lagoon gingerly, he began swimming. Near the middle of the lagoon, he started calling and waving to the artists, hoping to catch their attention. But the artists didn’t notice his presence. They were too entranced in their own thoughts, insulated from the rest of the world by the cocoon of the waterfall.
Bob kept swimming, hopeful that someone would eventually notice him and lend him a helping hand. He wasn’t exactly in shape and he’d had an unusually active day.
As he got closer to the artists, he realized that the waters were no longer quite so tranquil. He was nearing the waterfall and he could feel the power and might of it. The water became turbulent and before he could swim to safer waters, he found himself caught in the rapids.
He raised his voice frantically, desperate to get the attention of the artists. But the waterfall swallowed his feeble cries and not one of the artists glanced in his direction. They were too absorbed in their writings from the heart, feeding off the energy from the waterfall.
Tired and drained, with no energy left in him to fight the currents, Bob gave up and let the waterfall carry him where it may. He tumbled b over b and after a few near collisions with rocks, he found himself back in the tranquil waters he started in.
Bob lay floating on his back, exhausted and defeated. He looked languidly at the blue sky and wondered how much longer there’d be a blue sky to admire.
What a silly ambition it was in the first place, thinking he could save the world. At least he’d tried and given it his all. No one could fault him for that.
There were just too many words in the world and there wasn’t anything a little three-letter proper noun like him could do about it, despite his palindrome status.