The Sign Painter

by ImpossiblyIzzy

A random story about the sign painter.

I stood on the cliff, gazing down at the world below me. The world was falling apart. Someone needed to save it, but it wasn't going to be me. I couldn't help. Not without the goo. When I was young I used to love the goo: the many colours of it, the way it built huge structures. But now it's gone, to where I do not know. There was only one thing I could do.

I wrote signs, hoping that one day a new hero could awake the goo and rebuild our world. The signs led a trail, gave tips about how to collect goo. I signed them 'the sign painter' because that is what I have been reduced too. Just someone who walks the world, painting signs and hoping. Hoping that one day our world can be rebuilt.

I knew that one day someone would come. Someone would wake the sleeping goo. Someone would save the world. I can't do it myself. It's not my job.

I'm not a hero – I am the sign painter.