"Emotional Tsunamis and Unicorns: How Exclamation Points at the End of Stories Trigger Existential Crises in Goldfish and Other Infernal Beasts"

September 11, 2024

Ladies and gentlemen of literary and emotional sophistication, it is with great urgency that I address a crisis of unprecedented magnitude. An issue so surreptitiously woven into the fabric of our digital and literary communications that it arrives with the subtleness of whispering winds—only to unleash emotional tsunamis upon both writer and reader alike. I speak, of course, of the exclamation point at the end of stories. A punctuation mark so tragically underestimated that its implications reach far beyond the visible eye and whisper their devastation into the very cores of existence.

Consider, for a moment, the humble goldfish: an animal whose amphibious experience of the world is meticulously constrained within the imprisoning glass walls of an aquarium. It is often said—and perhaps erroneously so—that a goldfish's memory spans a mere three seconds. However, would a creature—albeit one that appears indifferent most of the time—remain unaffected by the literary exigencies that traipsed across its aquatic sanctuary? Envision with me, if you dare, an aquarium placed beside a nightstand, upon which rests a paperback novel ending with a sentence like "And they lived happily ever after!" The exclamation point punctures the literary atmosphere with such vehemence that even the most phlegmatic of goldfish would surely feel an existential prick as substantial as if it were prodded by Neptune’s trident.

Yet, it is not solely goldfish who suffer under the tyranny of this vehement punctuation. The broader cosmos of “infernal beasts,” ranging from mythical unicorns to the metaphorically ill-fated middle managers of multinational corporations, experience crises of self comparable to tectonic shifts when confronted with such literary exuberance. The unicorn, roving in its idyllic meadow, reads over the shoulder of a meadow-propping faun and contemplates its own raison d’être as it stumbles upon that dread punctuation mark. Torn between the realms of myth and stark reality, this once-innocent creature is thrust into the tar pits of existential dread and modern ennui. Should it gallop with joy, as the story insists, or should it collapse under the weight of enforced perky platitudes?

We must also turn our critical glare upon the authors, the architects of this exclamatory apocalypse. What infernal luxury compels them to cast so destructively upon their audience such punctuational fervor? Is it egoistic delight, a cynical desire to end their tale on a syntactic high note irrespective of emotional fallout? Or perhaps a misapprehension—rooted deeply in educational misguidance—that tales should close with glaring finality to convey writerly omniscience? Beware, dear writers, for your heedless joviality may drown not only the meek spirits of goldfish but also drive unicorns to the despair of finding their fabled horns dull and purposeless in a world freshly punctuated with your epistolary violence.

Humanity itself walks a precariously thin line as it negotiates this punctuation minefield. We, the readers, grapple with the surges of emotional ambivalence invoked by these energetic closure statements. Is our existence indeed as jubilant and enthusiastic as an exclamation point momentarily suggests? Or do we, transformed suddenly into creatures emotionally taunted by a surfeit of endings, find ourselves thrust into realms of introspection best left unexplored?

In conclusion, it is incumbent upon every literate being to embark on a solemn campaign against the lavish use of the exclamation point at the end of stories. Let us scrutinize, with the gravity befitting our highly evolved species, the emotional and existential devastations wrought by such wayward punctuational enthusiasm. Save the goldfish, soothe the unicorns, and rescue humanity from the precipice of literary dread. In those silent corridors where stories find their natural close, let there be only whispers and tranquility, a marked absence of electrified finality. For it is in the graceful tapering off of prose that true serenity lies, devoid of the tempestuous waves summoned by that infernal exclamation point.