The fate of a story that remains unread realizes the same fate of a passenger train that no one patronizes, because eventually both are quietly and unceremoniously consigned to the scrapheap of total obscurity in forgotten history.

Reality is that rails rust and ink fades.
Tracks ripped up and pages torn out.
Wood rots whereas paper disintegrates,
Both forgotten by the passage of time.

Likewise, there's not much difference between an untold story and an unread book, but there is a difference. An untold story shall never be known whereas the story in an unread book at least has a faint-hope chance of becoming known, even if only by one other somewhere, one day.

Nonetheless the end of this line has been reached, therefore the day time has come to turn out the lights, close this station, and discontinue a lost cause.

Best wishes to you fellow writers and readers who have perchance visited here once upon a time.

January 15 2025