He was sitting on someone's palm, when the man who was as tall as a finger discovered that he could tell entertaining stories. His first story was just a small lie that did not exceed a few words and ended on its own. This was all his energy and ability to tell and lie at that time. Despite this, he began to feel grateful, as he now had something to do on this earth, the crust of which his head was almost touching. Stories became his only way to prove to people that there was a creature that would almost be crushed under their shoes.
Over time he noticed that his stories continually grew by a word or two with each story he told. His height was also increasing, as if each new story was an exercise that increased his fitness, made him have a longer breath to tell, and gave his stature a few centimeters, so he began dreaming that one day there would be a tall building from his gradually growing stories standing on top of it, so that it would be taller than all the buildings in the city.