The first part of my story is here. I know it is not so gripping so far, but you reader has to be patient: things are going to became amazing. Well, from Part 3 surely they will.

But now, here is Part 2.

The Story was there. Its characters was outside, scared by the abyss of self-reference. No writer was around to pilot the storyship. No gambler was going to bet a dime on the chance of the story to reach its natural ending. And this is what happened.

When the abyss was growing huge like a black hole, a saver came from the past, arising from the heraldry tradition. Its name was (is) mise en abyme. It took the story and put it in the centre of the abyss. And instantly infinite copies of the story appeared, each one inside the other - because the abyss was inside the story, and so the a copy of the story appeared in the abyss, and it contained another abyss with another copy of the story. Are you a little confused? Not yet? Good.

The abyss was fastly filled with infinite stories. The danger was averted. But the first story, the one you are reading right now in these lines, it was not filled: there was still enough space to tell what the story had - and has - to tell.

Now imagine this: outside there is a circle of characters eager to have their own stories. Inside, in the middle, a self-reference hole filled by a convergent series of identical stories. In the empty ring, the story has the place to tell, finally, facts.

The story, up to this moment, was telling about itself, and this was not a healthy behaviour, obviously. So a character was chosen - or just found his way to the core of the narrative structure laid out so far. It was a race dog.

Wait! A race dog in a loop ring? This is not good!

Luckly, the dog had some food before he could start to run endlessly along the ring. The story itself sacrificed a bit of its flesh to feed the slim animal. And this wise choise not only prevented the insane rush but also made the dog aware of what the story had to tell.

The little race dog - a red bib with a white number on his chest - knew at that very moment that a story is a interweaving of fantasy and knowledge, and that awareness scared him a little, so that he howled: "What the hell?!"

(2. To be continued)