There is a small city, so far way and hidden. In it lives little people working and being hyper active. However, because they are little tiny itsy people in a tiny little itsy city nobody knows of this place. The only creatures who know of its existence are flying birds that pass above it and rest in it while immigrating. In this city a natural cycle runs. Newborn babies come into life everyday and old folks die as their journey in life ends.
And yet they were different. Different not only in the sense that they were so tiny (much like a journey in Gulliver’s travels to the tiny people) but in their way of fueling. They, not like regular people fuel on food on water, but have their own way of fueling with a weird kind of way. They fuel on letters, inspiration, and moving forward of the normal people. Whenever normal people thinks of words that are combined with multiple letters, or endorses a new kind of knowledge those tiny citizens would be all energized up. Talking a lot and being the fireworks to normal people. Without the normal people knowing.
Unfortunately, if they are not fueled over time those little people loses their power and slack off. And little by little they lose their souls, and this city become without citizens to count.
All those little people’s pleas are that they keep being fueled. To keep the city going. They are afraid to vanish.