The following story was written by me, playing with the concept of myse en abyme (among other deeper concepts within the text, such as philosophical and esoteric intertwined concepts).
Myse en abyme is a type of art that contains the art within itself, creating a meta-narrative. I'm sharing this to bring this concept to those who were not familiar with it.
I'm using a made-up pseudonym "Bob DeLorean" to compose the text.
Please let me know if i'm sharing the wrong way (i.e. if I'm supposed to publish it through another platform and sharing links, instead of sharing the entire story through a Lemmy post).
How do you make a story within the story itself? - A meta-fiction By Bob DeLorean (my pseudonym for this Myse En Abyme kind of story)
"How do you make a story within the story itself? Bob was wondering that. 'You start by thinking about the steps. It's quite simple, son, take this ancient book. It's yours. Literally yours', answered the priest, while handing a dusty book entitled 'How do you make a story within the story itself' authored by 'Bob'.
He opened it, just to face his own story right at the first page: 'How do you make a story within the story itself? Bob was wondering that'.
– Hey, it's my story! – he wondered, scared. – Where did you get it?
The priest answered:
– A long, long time ago, some minutes before this sentence, Bob started to wrote. Look, son, you're a prophet, a really gifted prophet. You should be proud of yourself.
– It doesn't make sense. How should I... how should I know?
– You really wrote it, son. Turn the page.
Bob turned the page. The second page started... 'Bob turned the page. The second page started...'. The rest was blurry, but gradually faded into existence. His eyes couldn't believe it. He read the next line: 'The rest was blurry, but gradually fading into existence'.
– Which type of witchcraft is this?
– It's not, son. It's your story, you really should be proud of yourself.
– But you said that I wrote this, right?
– Exactly, son. You wrote that.
– And how I can't remember?
– You do remember, son. Read it again.
He tried to look the next pages. All blurry, because we're still going to the third page. Bob should know that.
– Wait.. I heard it. Who's that?
It's me, Bob.
– No, I am Bob. You're not.
I'm Bob, Bob.
– Wh... No way! Tell my last name.
It's DeLorean. Bob DeLorean is our name. He looks surprised.
– Of course I'm surprised. What happens with me, at the end?
You mean... with us. Well, for you, I have somber news. You vanish as soon as I stop writing. As for me, I dunno, I'll probably write other texts.
– It's not fair. Am I gonna die?
– Hey, son, are you talking to God? – the priest asked.
– N... no. I'm talking to a voice that's claiming to be myself. Take this book back.
A mysterious force was stopping Bob from giving away his own book. You can't do it, Bob. You know you can't. Only you can read the book, for now.
– He's claiming that only me can read the book. And he keeps narrating some story, this story, it's creepy.
– Oh, it's God! God's right, son! The book is yours. It's meant for yourself.
– You should try to read it, priest...
– I can't defy God, my son. If the book is yours, I can't even touch it.
– You touched it minutes ago.
– It was God's mission to deliver the book for you, son. I simply delivered it as God wisely ordered me.
Hey, Bob, are you listening?
– Uh... yeah?
Say to the priest that he can stop calling me as god.
– Hey... priest... Can you hear him?
– No, son. I can't hear God.
– He asked you to stop calling him "god".
– Beware of your words, son. He's God.
– But he literally asked me. Look...
Bob proceeded to the fourth page, where I said 'Say to the priest that he can stop calling me as god'.
– Wait... I c... I can read it, son!
– Exactly! See?
– If God asked to not be called God, I'll respect God's Will and I'll stop calling God as God.
Humph...
– He seems infuriated.
– I can see it, son. It's right below the prophetic paragraph you delivered to me.
I'm becoming tired. I should sto...
– No!! I'm gonna die if you stop!
I don't care, Bob.
– But I'm... I'm you, you said it before!
Yeah. I'm you, Bob. And I'm deciding to stop my own story: the ancient book was slim, with five pages only. The priest and Bob went to sleep. Don't worry, I'm taking care of them. Maybe we'll awake inside another book in the future."
Sometimes I ask myself the same question when I share things just to be faced with my own feelings of purposelessness. I mean, the purpose should be sharing it to other people that'd be interested in the content, but the Dead Internet Theory has long been far from a mere theory. The insane amounts of bots and spam led people to rely on some kind of "web of trust", "web ring", etc. It was needed because it's never possible to know beforehand if a new profile will be spam/bot. And it seems good to find only what (should) fit our interests, following only people that you know whom produces good content. However, this behavior has a big downside, it rules out potentially interesting content from unknown people, which leads to the impossibility of hear and being heard, which leads to segregation, which leads to digital echo chambers. So, in such a web, friendless people, for example, inevitably fall into oblivion as they watch their content being filtered out because spam and bots needs to be filtered out.