There was an imp who couldn’t stop talking.
Not the hiding-under-bed kind. This one lived in crowded markets, bus parks, and comment sections.
A gregarious imp.
The moment silence fell, it appeared.
“Did you hear?” it would whisper, then shout, then sing.
It knew everyone’s business. Remembered every story. Introduced strangers like old friends.
Day jobs ended at 5pm. The imp didn’t.
It worked night shifts too, whispering jokes to insomniacs, starting debates between raindrops, making walls gossip.
People called it annoying. Then they called it company.
Because loneliness hates noise, and the imp was pure noise.
It had no closing time. No leave application.
It paid salary in laughter, drama, and “wait, let me tell you this”.
Unpaid work, but the whole town showed up anyway.
The world asks “what do you do for work?”
Nobody asks what it takes to keep a room from feeling empty. To turn strangers into listeners. To make silence uncomfortable.
So when someone says “that imp never rests”...
They’re right. Gregarious imps don’t have shifts.
They just keep the world talking.
Question for you:
If a gregarious imp followed you today, what’s the first story it would start spreading about you? 👇
Image is AI generated ✨
