Vignette Contest: May

[Viola Conda]

Although April's contest has not been judged yet, time marches on, trampling those who are unprepared, so shall the vignette contest continue on. Don't worry, those who posted in April shall be rewarded in due time.

For those new to this, what are vignettes you ask? They're (quite) short stories written in one post that relate to the given prompt. Everyone can post their entry in this thread and at the end of April the top three will be selected for prizes! But even if you don't win a prize, there's still exp in it for you just for posting.

Here's the rules:

1) One submission per character. Multiple accounts by the same author are allowed.
2) Please make your posts during the duration of time allotted (which is during the month of May). Editing your posts is permitted so long as they are edited within the contest's time frame.
3) The moderator judging the monthly vignette contest will post a vignette at the end, but will not be eligible for a prize.
4) Only on-topic vignettes will be considered for the prize. The topics are meant to be broad enough that no character should be particularly limited.
5) PCs must be involved in all vignettes. How "canonical" you choose to have the events of the vignette is up to you.
6) All participants receive 5% of the EXP they need to reach the next level. The top three finishers get 100, 75 and 50 GP respectively.

Without further ado, here's this month's prompt:

Your character is having a normal morning, when suddenly someone appears at the door...who could this be? It's you!

THE CREATOR MEETS THE CREATION. You can do whatever you want, for you got 24 hours to spend with yourself. You can have your character go to earth, or you can go to Althanas, the choice is yours. Have fun, and be creative!

[Requiem of Insanity]

“You’re probably wondering why you are here,” a sweet seductive voice chimed into the chilling room. The man on the table groaned as he slowly awoken, and his eyes filtered through the darkness looking for the source of the voice. His eyes strained and he could see the silhouette of a woman, and behind her was some taller man.

“Why does that sound oddly familiar?” the man asked more to himself than the darkness surrounding him. A sharp laugh interrupted his thoughts as he looked over to the woman, and out she came, hips swaying in a very provocative manner. Her black suit was skin tight and revealed little of her features other than her curves, and long died blond hair was tied up in the back into a ponytail. She had the part of her mouth covered by the shirt she wore, and for all it was worth he could easily discern she was smiling underneath her disguise.

“You have stirred many a head,” she spoke softly to him, her hazel eyes never leaving his. “Some have called me crazy, psychotic, and demented.” Her eyes had a hint of rage behind them. “Who the fuck honestly thinks these things?” She asked innocently to the man strapped upon the table.

The target of her desires looked down and he realized he was naked. Moving his hands he tried to cover himself, but found the chains holding him to be rather tight. He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement. “Ya know…this is kinda kinky…” he whispered to himself. The woman lowered her shawl covering her face, and she revealed a dazzling set of pearly white teeth to him as she sauntered forward, running one finger up the side of his body resting it upon one of his nipple before walking the digits up to his chin, batting him playfully on the nose.

“Your so damn clueless, aren’t you?” She asked with general sincerity of concern. “Paul, I’m Cassandra Remi. Doesn’t that ring a bell.” He looked at her and then dropped his stupor as the fog in his head cleaned. “And the last horse crosses the finish line.” she mused as she darted off into the shadows.

“Wait a damn minute, where the hell did you come from, and how the hell am I trapped? I’m not a psycho killer or someone who can regret!” Paul shouted to her. “This breaks your moral code!” Cassandra returned holding a fillet knife, and Paul suddenly felt a cold dread wash over him like a splash of water. He couldn’t breath as easily as he eyed the knife in her hand.

“Do you not realize the actions you have taken in creating me are your own twisted desires? You will regret child, you will regret when I am done with you and your cries will join my twisted Requiem!” She laughed wildly as she skipped over and Paul felt goosebumps on his forearms as she looked over his body trying to find a tender piece to cut into.

“But, but…” Paul was searching for something, anything to get himself out of the situation, but the more he thought about ways to calm Cassandra, the more he realized he couldn’t compromise. She was a loony and nothing was about to stop her from carving into him.

“This piece looks tender…” she said eyeing his hip and poking the muscle. He spasmed and let out a yelp of alarm, his flesh prone to showing his more ticklish side. She grinned from ear to ear at the response, and her hand held him steady as the knife cut into his flesh.

A long howl of anguish escaped Paul’s lips as he cried out into the night, tears of pain swelling in his ears as he felt a liquid trickle down the side of his hip. He dared to take a look and his eyes brimmed with fear as he shouted again in alarm, curse words flowing in an endless river of hatred as he saw the top portion of skin cut off and tossed aside like a roll of pizza dough. Cassandra cooed like a baby. Her knife went in for another jealous portion of Paul’s flesh, and he cringed biting his lips to keep from howling again, but as she cut and heard only grunting she grew irritated, making the incision jagged finally causing him to howl in agony again.

“Sounds like all the other juicy screams,” Cassandra taunted, tossing the piece of meat onto Paul’s face. Squirming like a worm, he tossed his head to the side and tears ran down his face as he glared into his own demonic creation.

“Where is it,” Cassandra continued her taunts. “Where is the fatherly speech. I took you into this world, I can take you out just as easily?” her ire grew to higher heights as she rose and went into the darkness. “Isn’t it true my deluded prince that you had nightmares when you left a solo unwritten for more than a few days? The more you ignored me, the worse you felt. You designed me to be a the loathing deep inside you for human nature. I was a spawn of the aggression you felt and the justice you wished you could dream of serving.”

Paul felt a sudden rush of blood go to his brain, and he began to feel light headed as he looked at Cassandra returning with a potato peeler and a mouth vice. Paul clamped his mouth shut, but Cassandra only seemed to get excited by this as she reached her free hand under his chin, squishing his lymph nodes. Paul eventually opened his mouth, and felt a terrible pain stab his front teeth as she jabbed the vice inside. She locked it in place and took the peeler waving it in front of his eyes before she took a large wooden popsicle stick and pushed his tongue down. With a careful movement she started to cut into his tongue before he wallowed in despair, darting the muscle around to avoid it being shaven off.

“What’s this?” Cassandra mocked surprise and shock. “Are you terrified of your own creation?” she pretended to feel hurt by this as she lifted the potato peeler to his face. “Isn’t this just your own taste of your own medicine? You pathetic jerk…” She whispered. “You cringe at this potato peeler so much, but you don’t even have an idea what it really feels like. Time for a lesson in clarity!” she mused as she grabbed Paul’s penis pulling it back so it was taught. His legs jerked and he yelped in pain, his eyes widening in terror. “This isn’t exactly how you figured a woman would handle this, would you?” She teased as she lowered the potato peeler, shaving off the first layer of skin on his extended body part.

A wail of agony and terror, anguish and defeat escaped Paul’s mouth, his wails so loud he opened his mouth wide enough to push the vice out, cracking his jaw bone as he did so. He whimpered and whined as he screamed for someone, anyone to end this as she just continued to shave him. She laughed with mirth as she collected each piece she shaved off, placing it off to the side as Paul’s whimpers began to die down. She tugged again, stabbing him in the ball sac between his testicles, prodding it but not ripping it open. Another cry of despair and helplessness filled the air and Cassandra joined it with a sickening laugh of amusement.

“You made sure I was very methodical,” she lifted the potato peeler and the shavings, placing each cut part on his body making him quiver in disgust and humiliation.

“Please….” Paul whispered weakly, his mouth horse from all the screaming. “What do I do to end this?” He asked weakly. Cassandra pondered this for a moment, and then her eyes flashed with a wild idea.

“You know when this ends, Paul.” She said motherly. “This ends when you die!” Paul muttered the words no, no, no over and over again, his mind exploding with thoughts of hell and torture he unleashed in his own twisted creation. All because his mind was weak and unwilling to except the realization that he was the puppet master. He allowed Cassandra to control him, and only when she got out of hand did he lend his hand to her, to calm her. Then it hit him like a wet towel.

With that sudden realization, he came to peace with the inevitable, and his eyes rolled behind his socket, a last final breath escaping his lips before he passed out. Cassandra looked at Paul with a look of disgust and displeasure before she felt a cold, gentle hand wash over her shoulder. She welcomed the embrace and looked to her Dark Companion with loving eyes. “My darkest lover…You have returned. I thank you, I thank you so much. This was a marvelous evening my beautiful darling.”

Paul just lavished her with sweet nothings, resuming his role as her Dark Companion and guiding her to her next playmate watching over her like a dutiful lover.

[Lavinian Pride]

The alarm blared, its persistent ringing echoing somewhere in the vacuum that occupied my skull during sleep. Muttering a curse at the time of day it was, I used one of my hands to slam down the sleep button. I was hoping that extra nine minutes of sleep would help me actually wake up. Resting with my eyes closed and gripping my pillow tightly I released a deep sigh.

It was at this time I heard the squeak of my computer chair, roughly three feet from my head.

A bloodshot brown eye opened as I looked out upon the world, and saw a rather slender pair of legs crossed in front of me. The realization I was not alone in my room was disturbing, further was my lack of pants. Bolting upright I felt my heart race within my chest, before I looked upon the form of a young woman. She was about my age, I could tell as much from the combination of hips and legs.

My eyes slowly drifted up until they rested on brown eyes that seemed to drill into my own. A hand was placed upon my chest as I fought to keep my heart beating within its cage, before I spoke, "Look, I don't know who you are, but waking me up this early isn't the best thing to do."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. You're Patrick right?" The words seemed to be familiar, her tonality and voice something I had heard in many a dream. Closing my eyes I sighed before I looked down, glad my lower body was hidden beneath the sheets. The last thing I needed was a girl getting a free glance at my more private area.

"Who the hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my room? It’s not my birthday for another three months, so I know you aren't a hooker..." I stopped as the voice rang deep within me. I liked to think many things, one of which was that all the characters I role played as were a part of me. That the characters I portrayed had a voice in my head, something that I listened to when I took on the personas on Althanas and at the table.

This one resonated with a rather specific woman.

"Charming, not exactly what I'd expect from the man who created me," The woman said even as she shifted in the comfortable leather seat. Soft music played from the computer, even as the alarm went off again. Absently I turned off the alarm, not sure that more sleep would do me any good anymore.

"Sarah," I breathed. Now, I know it’s rather crass to think of your creation as a rather attractive woman, but Sarah had been designed to be a temptation. She was sort of my weakness, the girl who I always wanted to save, but never truly obtain. Call me fucked up, but as much as I tormented my characters I had tormented myself in my love life.

"So you do remember me. That saves me some time. Now, where am I and what am I doing here?" The brown haired vixen said. She eyed the blinds hanging above my computer screen warily before she looked back at me.

"Look, I promise I'll answer your questions in due time, but first things first..." I said even as I swallowed hard, feeling a bit of anxiety swell up in me. Gods be damned I had never learned how to be around a cute girl. Further I knew I had a crush on Sarah, mainly because of the way I am. I used to have a raging Knight in Shining Armor complex. Sarah just happened to be a rather tough damsel in distress.

"What's that," the brunette vixen in my computer chair asked.

"Pants."

~*~

Pants firmly belted to my waist, with a shirt and a sweatshirt to go over my bare chest, I felt slightly more human. Still the zombie shuffle continued as I pulled on socks and grabbed for my favorite black hat. As a gift to my brother after a prank he had pulled when we both used to work together, it had a bit of sentimentality. Further, I hated dealing with my hair, and what better way to deal with it, than to just shove it under a hat like I never existed.

A glance about my room revealed it to still be in a state of organized clutter. Laundry baskets stacked up in front of the closet which had the doors removed for ease of accessing the dresser shoved inside. It had taken some getting used to, living in an apartment, but I had managed. Stretching I felt a few of the vertebrae in my back pop, before I tilted my neck, causing more to pop.

Still her gaze never shied from me, even as I had pulled on my pants and welcomed the new day. I ignored it for a bit longer before I stifled a yawn and said firmly, "Alright, lets start from the get go, what were you doing last night? We'll work forward from there, and hopefully, we'll get you some answers."

"I went to sleep with Kid as usual. We were in Lavinya when I woke up on the couch in your front room. I saw no one around, and so I went down the hallway, and saw your door partially open. I have to say though, your room is quite a mess," Arms crossed over her chest, and I immediately lowered my gaze behind the bill of my hat. I didn't need to get flustered over the girl anymore than I already had.

"Yeah, they say clutter is the mark of genius, besides everything is where it should be," I retorted. I then raised my gaze to her eyes before I spoke candidly, "Well, from the looks of things, either I'm having the world's weirdest dream, or something fucked up with Fate. As much as I know you hate that bastard, no, I didn't willingly bring you here."

"Then I have another question," She replied firmly.

"Fire away, not like I haven't expected these," Was my cavalier response.

"Why?"

"Really? This early in the morning? I figured you'd work up to it out of fear for a bad answer. What time is it anyways?"

"I don't know, we may talk the same, but I can't decipher your writings or your clocks..."

"Ugh, ten, I hate being up this early," The words tumbled out of my mouth before I let out another sigh. I really did hate mornings.

"So why did you set your alarm?"

"Work? No, my sister didn't fax over any...maybe it was just so I stop going to sleep at five in the morning..."

"When do you normally wake up?"

"If I had my way, it would be never before noon. Oh well, I suppose I owe you an answer huh?"

"That would be nice..."

I chuckled, hardly helping myself. I liked to think I was witty, even if it was annoying to some of my friends, call me a smart ass, because I'm sure at one point or another everyone else has. Looking at Sarah, now that I was fully dressed and not in danger of showing how much she affected me, I finally spoke, "Why not?"

The girl's eyebrows furrowed as her eyes closed to near slits. Her grip on the arm of the computer chair caused the plastic to squeal in protest. Still she looked at me with an intense hatred, not too unlike that given to me by the sisters i would torment relentlessly, "What?"

"You're asking why you exist. I merely ask why not?"

"You mean I was created on a Lark?"

"You remember when Seth was changed into a girl? That was done on a lark. The reason you exist in that body right now is I grew in love with you as a character. At first I had no plans on you surviving that Arc. Seth would eventually go back to being a man, and I would always have a story of how crazy I was back in the old days. Hell it won me some GP for that account too. Gild thought it was hilarious, and I could hardly argue that."

"So you mean to tell me I have no purpose other than to be Seth Dahlios with breasts?" She asked as she began to move in her chair, preparing to stand up. I placed a hand firmly on her shoulder and forced her to sit back down in the chair. No mean task considering just who I was touching. Her skin was smooth, and inviting to say the least, but I tried quickly to ignore those feelings. I mean, if I slept with Sarah Dahlios, would that be some desperate act of masturbation?

Better to not even think about it.

Looking deeply into those brown eyes I spoke firmly, "Maybe at first, but your purpose grew slowly over time. You were to become everything Seth could not. As he descended further and further into self destruction, you would become an example of Seth done right. Eventually you were going to be better than Seth in every way shape and form. Really, I think you're there already despite the fact he's almost three times your level."

"What do you mean three times my level?" She seemed baffled by the concept of levels, and a bit of irritation was in her voice over the fact that Seth was seen a superior to her in some way.

"Okay, let’s start from the beginning; I think there are a few things you aren't aware of. Firstly, Althanas is a website. I can't exactly explain that concept other than as a really big book that people write down stories of their characters in. Seth, Liliana, even Taviri are characters in the stories I write. You with me?" I was still sitting on my bed, though my mind was figuring how best to explain this. I mean, how do you explain something as complex as the internet?

"Okay, so we're the characters of your stories. Seth is stronger than me in this story why?"

"It is by sheer virtue that I've told more stories about him. Even after your creation I haven't written with you nearly enough to catch up, let alone eclipse him entirely. Though nowadays writing him is like pulling teeth."

"Okay, so that's why, there's more about him, so he's grown more," She replied. Her eyes showed a bit of worry, and I couldn't blame her really. I had designed Sarah to always want to one up Seth. In the end it worked out far sooner than expected, though Sarah hasn't realized it yet.

"You are more real to me than Seth. I also don't write your story, because I don't feel like hurting you anymore than I have. I actually care about you, where as I killed Seth, and expected it to be more of an emotional moment than had actually occurred. I barely felt a thing, I merely went to bed. You have moments that still make me cringe at the thought of writing, but I also know you can brave them."

"Why is that? I can hardly handle being a vampire, and with the loneliness you gave me, I have nothing to cling to. You have taken everything that made me function and destroyed it. I was barely three months into being my own soul when Rianna sired me to vampirism!"

"Yet you persist. Why?"

"Because you want me to!"

"Bullshit."

"What?"

"Bull fucking shit. Look, the characters I create have personality, and they make choices. I merely tell everyone else how those choices worked out. I had realized Seth's bloody swathe through Althanas would end at his parents long before he did. He merely got there slowly, and when the change happened, it was the end of depravity."

"So you're saying I chose-"

"No, to be fair, I set up your personality at first. I decide what is within your modus operandi. After I programmed you with the parameters, I let you go to trundle down your path. You began as an experiment in Seth as a pure thief. As we both know that never happened. What you have become, is a counterpart to Seth in every way shape and form. Where Seth loathes Hex Magic, you abhor your vampiric side. You both seek to become more human, and you cling to that humanity as a child does to a stuffed animal."

"Then I have to know, Kid, is she?"

"I won't answer that Sarah, that is the future, and while I know how your story ends, I promise it is a good ending. Seth's is a fade in obscurity, but you will be happy when your story ends. The road will be bumpy and you'll question yourself repeatedly, but from the fires of your life I will forge you into a blade stronger than any. Out of all my characters, your ending is the only happy one I have planned. The next belongs to a Samurai in Akashima, that has only the potential to be happy."

She looked at me before she asked, "Why?"

"If I had to pick favorites, I choose you. Taviri represent my dedication and single mindedness to a cause. Liliana is the Unattainable, while Seth does eventually get her, even then he questions if he truly has her heart. You, you represent what I desired for so long. Call me a love sick puppy but you were probably my best girlfriend. The other characters are whims, even that Samurai. If I finish his story it will probably be with him only a couple of levels beyond yours where it is now. But you, will keep going long after I lay his story to rest."

"Patrick?"

"Don't, you owe me nothing for your existence. It was your determination, and ambition that made you so much fun to write. You convinced me through the words I wrote you deserved a life. Thank yourself more than anyone else."

She leaned forward and before I could react, she had given me a soft peck on the cheek before she leaned back in the chair, a devilish smile gracing those seductive lips. I raised an eyebrow, even as my cheeks reddened. Christ on a cracker I could be so damn shy. Further I was more than sure if Michelle ever found out, she'd have my nuts in a vice.

I suppose its a good thing this was just a dream.

[The Writing Writer]

It was as normal a night as normal nights went for me. The T.V. was on, as was my computer. It was about eleven and around this time I'm usually playing City of Heroes while watching King of the Hill. This night wasn't any different.

I was on my way back upstairs from the kitchen. I been scrounging around for a midnight snack and sadly was unsuccessful. I scaled the stairs in my normal fashion, stretching my legs and skipping every other step. I hated stairs. Ironic that my room was the only one upstairs.

Once at the top of the stairway I rounded the corner into my bedroom, strolling at a relaxed pace. I had seen this episode of King of the Hill before, so I was in no hurry. It took me a moment to realize there was someone standing in my room. My parents were in bed, and I didn't recognize them at first. It was a tall man with long greasy black hair. He was sickly pale.

My first reaction was to jump. You know the kind of jump where someone comes around the corner at the exact moment you do and you almost bump into each other? It was that kind of jump. My second reaction was to literally tremble in fear. I had no idea who this man was. Years of paranoid parental guidance forced me to assume he had ill intentions.

I began stepping backwards, easing my way out of my room. Hopefully he hadn't seen me, and I could go tell my dad and he could get his gun. But as I neared the door, an eerily familiar voice came out of the man, and a horrifying chill ran down my spine as he spoke.

" Such a humble abode for the maker of me.
Such a young and passive man. Could it truly be?
The maker of me lives at home with his mother.
The word, dear maker, is pathetic. No other. "

I bolted towards the door, overcome with fear. But as I neared the stairs I felt a strange sensation come over me. My head was spinning, and I could barely stand. I fell against the wall, rebounding off of it and collapsing to my knees. I knew what had happened to me, but...this was impossible. There's no way that- A cold, merciless hand took hold of my arm and tugged me forcefully back into my room.

He flung me to the floor, and I looked up to him, terrified. He loomed over me, smiling menacingly as he looked me over. I started rambling, mostly out of fear. I didn't fully understand what was going on.

" W-what the fuck do you want, man?! "

As soon as the words left my mouth he began laughing. His laugh was chilling, terrifying. I could feel tears welling in my eyes. He jerked his head in close, glaring into my eyes like he was trying to force them out of the back of my head. I had never seen eyes like his before. They were monstrous.

" What do I want? HAH! Just one simple thing.
I wanted to see the man who forces me to sing.
The man who gave me all that I am.
Surely this man was the most evil sort of man.

To create such a writer- such a madman as me,
Surely one would have to be just a little crazy.
But here I stand, eye to eye- hand in hand!
And all I see is a child, in the body of a man. "

" F-fuck you dude! You're not him. You can't be him.. " My words were shaky, at best. I kept trying to tell myself it wasn't real. That I was just having a nightmare.

" This is no dream you sad little boy!
This is genuine! The real fucking McCoy!
You left me, Jimmy. You left me idle for months!
While you lived your life, I sat in darkness, not laughing, for once. "

" I-...I'm sorry! I just...with my dad and all...I didn't want to put myself in that mind set. I have to become you to write with you. "

" YOU COULD NEVER BE ME! NEVER! NOT ONCE IN YOUR LIFE!
You are a coward. Not of men, but of mice.
When I came here, I did not expect to find,
A boy in a room. All doors closed...forever drawn blinds.

I am ashamed to say that I was created by you.
But now that I am here, I must do, what I must do.
You will begin writing with me again.
You will do it Jimmy, or I will rip you intwane. "

" Jacob I...you can't force me to write with you...that would ruin the story. It would be fake. It wouldn't be you. "

He eased away from me, letting out a deep sigh. I would say I wondered what he was thinking about, but I probably already knew somehow. He made his way back over to the window and peered outside once again. He stared into the darkness for some time before he faced me again.

" You are right, dear maker. I do not want a false life.
If you are to write with me, it must be done right.
I apologize for my intrusion, and wish you well.
Perhaps, some day I'll see you again. And together we'll unleash hell. "

I awoke with a start, gasping for air. I looked around, but there was nothing. The static on the T.V. lit my dark, one window room fairly well. I was glad it was on. I sometimes was afraid of the darkness. I noticed my computer was still on, and although it was late, I wasn't very tired. I made my way over to my computer desk and had a seat. I started up of City of Heroes and sent out a message in broadcast.

" Writing Writer: lvl 36 stalker looking for a team. "

[Yari Rafanas]

If the sky were to open up and the hand of your creator were to reach down and make his presence known, there would be no order. The lives and souls you have touched would unravel, becoming nothing before the very eyes he gave you. Everything you had accomplished would cease to have any meaning, and any future you once craved would shatter amidst the chaos. God and his arrogant, self-serving creation would cross paths and both would cease to wonder.

There is much that Taydrius “Yari” Rafanas must not know.

He must never be made aware that key points in his life were an exercise in dealing with the drama fallen upon his creator. An artist can only create something from experience, and were Rafanas to discover that the loss of his fathers, his friends, and his very own life existed as nothing but the shadows of true events belonging to another he would be devastated. If your creator told you he watched you suffer and die to express his own pain, only unwelcome anger and sorrow would befall you.

Though he was created in likeness to the one above, Rafanas had surpassed his creator in every way. Both existed as scruffy, handsome men in their twenties, but the King of Thieves possessed every trait left desirable by the creator. Were the heroic thief to look upon his creator and see the resemblance, disappointment would soon follow the confusion. So thin and unimposing, the creator would seem unfit to stand next to such an athletic warrior as Rafanas himself.

The bandit's creator was given the chance to tear open the skies and fall down, obliterating Yari's life on Althanas as all would know it. It was in this moment that the above reflections took place, and the young man who penned this mighty legend would make his decision.

Tyler Bloom had manifested on the steps of the Peaceful Promenade, thin arms resting on the railing of the balcony and overlooking the well-traveled road through Underwood. He brushed some of his long dark hair from his eyes and surveyed the crowds, expecting to see familiar faces popping out from amidst the nondescript travelers. Suddenly he was met with a brief moment of panic, his blue eyes connecting with a mirror pair belonging to Yari Rafanas.

The King of Thieves furrowed his brow from under his cloak, perplexed as to why this thin man was observing him, but passed it off as just nothing more than morbid curiosity. He adjusted the spear slung over his back and turned away on a path into his forest of Concordia.

Overtaken by excitement and forgetting everything he had just considered, the creator Tyler nearly yelled out his avatar's name, but he stopped himself.

If Yari Rafanas stood for one thing it would be freedom. If the bandit king were to discover all his choices were made for him, the sky would open up and the hand of god would smother the excitement and adventures to come in one fell swoop. For now, they would remain apart.

[Rahegalhoff]

“I’ve come to plea for my life.” The voice behind me said.

I was sitting at the computer in my living room, getting ready to write up another post for another thread, when the voice suddenly spoke. It was a man’s voice, and filled with a peculiar kind of sadness I knew I could never know. I turned around to find a man of average height standing behind me, in black chainmail armor and leather pants, sort of like a poor knight from the medieval era who wasn’t in full armor. He had white hair and grey eyes, and seemed ominously familiar. I looked at the dogs on the couch, but they were snoozing the night away.

“Don’t worry, they don’t know I’m here, I am a figment of your imagination after all.” The man said.

“Alright, but, who, how?” giving voice to the confusion I felt.

“You yourself once said that there is no such thing as fiction. I am Rahegalhoff Mesquchoku, but I am not the holy knight you know and love so dearly. I was born not of a need to express your faith in God through stories, but instead to creatively tell of the infinite struggle in each person between good and evil, by giving your good knight an evil counter part. The idea was to have two men that are the same man, one from the normal universe, one from the Anti-verse. One good, one evil, each on the opposite path, each continually fighting the other in one event or another over, yet never truly striking a blow until our last encounter.” The knight said, and then looked at me sternly, expecting me to realize who he was, and I did.

“You’re THAT Rahegalhoff? But, as you say, you are a part of my imagination after all; you have no life, only what I give you.” I said, thinking I had this hallucination beat.

“You’re not paying attention. There is no such thing as fiction. You yourself admitted this, not knowing how right you are. You write on Althanas with eight characters, one of many players. I am one of the two possible destinies for your fourth, Rahegalhoff. Let me explain why I need to plea for my life, but first explain other things first. There is no such thing as fiction. There is The Real World, and The Other World separated both by what you call The Fourth Wall, and another barrier simply known as The Great Seal. It is the second barrier that keeps all things created in the human imagination from manifesting themselves in the real world without human effort. It’s a good thing too; so many villains, so many dark gods, so many creations that would gladly consume the real world, and thus, control everything. In The Other World, all characters created by real people live their lives. We move at your direction, speak when you command, and fulfill your every fantasy, even the private ones you wouldn’t dare admit to anyone. We live in our imaginary nations, re-enacting our destinies, and living otherwise ordinary lives. We discuss our creators and dream of our own possible futures, and otherwise live in what is actually a paradise, save for when we’re re-enacting our scripted destinies.

Xos studies and researches all of Creation daily in his laboratory; Kajeenith dwells happily in his void, Calbrena and her family gets along quite nicely. Everyone lives in happiness, except for me. I have only been thought of, not truly created. I have no personality, no individuality, no destiny beyond eventual death in Dimensia Harmonia, and no companion other than Hellfire. I have no thoughts, no feelings, and no story. I live on the cusp of coming into being while you send Nightstalker off on missions and quests for more training. Either you hate me, or you simply do not care about me, and both actions fill me with despair. I know not what I did to you to deserve only a partial life, but if I ever find out, I’ll be sure to apologize in an instant, in the hopes it’ll move you to finally give me a complete existence. I beg of you, let me be.” Rahegalhoff said, getting on his knees to plead for something I didn’t know could be.

I was in shock, I had never thought there actually was a world beyond our own, created by our collective imaginations, that lived lives beyond the story.

“I am the one who must apologize. I have simply been afraid. I love good things, not evil. I enjoy writing about good things happening to good people, and never give much thought about evil characters. Kajeenith only exists as completely as he does because he’s my primary villain and others because they were necessary for the good guys to have the happy ending. But your story I never thought of, because, because I never got to it. I would complete a few ideas, and go back and expand on the first, having thought of something new. I cannot fix what has happened, only what will. Return from whence you came. I make you a promise, on Althanas, you shall live, the undecided destiny of Rahegalhoff shall become your destiny, and in so doing, give you the life you so greatly desire. Just know it won’t always be easy for you.” I said.

The man stood as one renewed. A radiant joy could be seen on his face. I shook his hand and then drew back my own in surprise, as the entity that would become known as The Knight of Doom faded into it. I turned to the computer, brought up Microsoft word, envisioned shooting that stupid office assistant with an assault rifle, and outlined evil Rahegalhoff’s very being.

[Kupo!]

WHAM!

Paul had learned in a terribly short period of time that gravity hurts when leaping off any height and landing flat on your feet, falling forward, and face diving into dirt was painful.

What made it even worse was the shit he was smelling in his nostrils. He looked up to see a yellow looking sheep look up at him, and the two eyes met for the first time. In that span the sheep walked over, took one hoof to it's chin, scratching the soul patch under his lower lip, then coming to a conclusion.

"You fell in my poop, Kipo." the creature said.

"No shit," Paul moaned.

"No, that is, indeed fact, my poo on your face, Kipo." Paul glared at the creature before him, when suddenly he felt a horrible wave of dread wash over him.

"AHHHHH!" He screamed, rolling onto his rear drawing his knees in for protection, holding out a single hand. "A TALKING SHEEP!" The creature jumped onto Paul's chest, knocking him flat on the ground, daggers for eyes looking into him.

"I'm a yan. Y-E-uh...a-h-ermmm....N!" he spelled out, probably wrong from the way he lost confidence towards the end. Paul pushed the creature off him, grabbing his shirt and wiping all the crap out of his face. Another group of creatures began walking towards Paul, all looking at him in wonder and awe.

The tallest of the group stood above them, a towering giant of a three foot teddy bear, and a long protruding ...

"DUKE?" Paul's voice shot out, interrupting the very hard work put into describing the moogle. "Oh this has got to be a nightmare."

"Kupo?" Duke replied, tilting his fedora hat to get a better look at the human before him. Knowing that deep down the two had an unusual amount of knowledge about the other Duke

"Why are you here?" Duke said, cutting off the action that was about to go into describing what Duke was about to do. Paul shrugged his shoulders, slowly getting up and arching

"I guess I was drinking a bit too much last night. Wow, never thought I would end up here of all places..."

Okay, that's it. You guys keep cutting me off, so you know what. I had it. You want action, you need me, so you either play by the rules, or I quit. I can hit the post button whenever, and couldn't care less what happens to either of you, so make up your minds right now.







That's what I thought.

The two newly acquainted companions were at a Mexican stand off. Duke with all his dolls, and Paul with his boundless hatred for everything in the world. It was sure to be a titanic match should the two ever cross paths, but in the end Duke turned to the tiny green guy, nodding once, and the dancing green cactus jumped up into the air, shouting, "BOI!" and Paul had taken it for a loose translation of follow.

The group had entered a tavern not far from where they were, and after the waiter sat them Paul and Duke had ordered the driest martinis. They both concluded on being disappointed on the drink, and ordered shots of drinks, talking the night away.

After several hours of drinking, they began to slur their words, Duke slolwy falling off the chair, only to have Tim upright the moogle.

"I-I-I-I don't really get it..." Duke whispered. "Tell me how I came to be then, mighty creator...." Paul felt his body loose as a rubber band, and laughed watching his hand reach out, grab the shot, and down it.

"Is it a bad...bad thing when you no longer can taste the drink?" Paul asked, his voice cracking like puberty hit.

"I...I do believe that is a bad thing, Ku-Ku...ah forget it. Po." Duke slammed his head on the table, and Paul reached out, touching the pom pom that dangled in front of him.

"Heh heh, it's like a cat toy...boing, boing, boing." Paul batted it around until Duke lifted his head up, startled that he had passed out.

"Wanna, wanna know a sad thing?" Duke asked. Paul got serious, well, as serious as a drunk person could get, and leaned forward, holding the tiny moogle's paw giving him his undivided attention. "I was created because...you just thought it would be funny. Do you...do you...do you even have a goal, Kupo, for me?" Paul pondered this, and let out a childish grin slipping out of his seat.

"Nope!" Paul shouted, laughing that he fell out of his chair. He slowly crawled a few feet, getting back to his verticle base and heading for the bathroom.

Duke contemplated this revelation, and he drowned his sorrows with more drinks. "Not a single, single purpose for being born...just...a whim?" Duke tossed his drink aside, shattering it against a wall. Paul returned from the bathroom, and held the moogles paw in one hand.

"Duke, I made you. I made you! And I made you because sometimes...sometimes...people just take things way too seriously...they need a reminder that life isn't always the pits. That they need to laugh...something I forget far to much..." Paul looked like he was about to vomit, but swallowed it down. "So, so, so even if I don't have a point for where you'll go...I play you because...you make me laugh. Your everything that is a smart ass in life...your my jab back at the world who jabs me. I love you little buddy." Paul fell on the table, collapsed and ready to pass out.

"I have one last question," Duke said full of wonder. Paul looked at him with one eye. "Did you wash your hands?" Paul laughed and shook his head.

"No I didn't." Duke's squinty eyes widened to a mild squint.

"Well...if, if if your hand touched your penis...and I touched your hand...than that means....eww I touched your penis..."

Paul contemplated this, and passed out. Duke shortly followed.

[Jaleco]

Just incase you don't know yet; yes, he's insane

“The very reason we exist is to destroy all of existence, isn’t it?”

“No, that can’t be right!” Jaleco shuddered as his mind argued with itself. He did not remember where he was, the only thing that he knew was that his wings surrounded him, closing the outside world off.

“Don’t lie to yourself; this is all you’ve ever wished for, the invasion of your own thoughts upon themselves.”

“No! I want to be home again, I want to return to my people! I want the justice that I deserve!”

“You’re still lying.” Slowly his mind and his world deteriorated into desolate abyss in which he found himself so often, himself and so much more. The voice of that darkness came to him once more, as if it were knocking at the door. “Why don’t you trust yourself?”

“What do you mean?” Jaleco responded to the voice.

“Why don’t you trust your own truths instead of enveloping yourself in lies?”

“I don’t! I’m not lying!” his voice resounded throughout his entire being.

“You know what you did; you know why you were punished.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“The fear of your own past is what is defining you. Release that fear, and you are free to move forward.”

“How could I forget…?” The scent of blood floated to his nostrils and Jaleco smiled. The bodies lay strewn about the ground at his feet, some still clinging to existence. He watched with intent joy as the demons ran about, tearing bodies to shreds. A twisted laugh escaped his throat as he held a large stone above his head. It’s black and red swirls moved across the surface as if they were alive. A nearby angel screamed as the soul atop her head was torn from her. It flowed through the air like a bright ribbon towards the stone. As the ribbon of light met the stone’s exterior, it was absorbed. The screaming faded and the woman lay on the ground, no sign of life showing but for her breathing.

“Why? Why was I punished? I released them!”

“You sent them into the abyss! You killed them!”

“I freed them from God’s tyranny! I let them go!” The voice fell silent as it left Jaleco to sit in the mud beneath him. He opened his wings slightly, letting the sun’s light dimly light his enclosure. The grass was back, along with the sounds of the forest. The air filled his nostrils as he breathed in the fresh, moist air. The rain had stopped. His wings spread as he prepared to take flight, ready to die again.

[Disillusioned]

"I always liked you Troy." David said softly.

"Then why don't I have a happy ending?" Troy asked as the two walked across a sandy beach under the cool night sky. The wind was pleasant, and the sounds the water made had always been soothing to Troy. Such a setting was the least David could do for the man.

"Because life doesn't always have a happy ending Troy." David said quietly as he kept pace with Troy. Neither looked at the man beside him. Both were afraid of the very same thing: what they would find out about themselves if they dug too deep.

"So I'm your sadness? Your despair?" Troy questioned as his cape flapped in the wind. His ice blue eyes scanned the ocean. It was peaceful tonight. He liked that.

"Pieces of it. I like to think that every character I create reflects a bit of me. Life isn't all roses and wine, but of course you already knew that." David said as he walked a few feet ahead, giving Troy time to digest what he had heard. It didn't take a telepath to figure out what Troy was thinking.

It's not fair.

"No, it's not. But life isn't always fair." David said, silently chiding himself for responding to Troy's thoughts instead of words. It was impolite.

"Why me? Why not Sheex? Or Lucifer? Why must I suffer?" Troy said as he turned to look at his creator. David too turned to look at his creation, and it hurt. The sadness, the despair, all the loss was clearly visible in Troy's ice blue eyes. David always liked those eyes, but now they brought him pain when he looked at them.

"A friend puts complete faith in another friend. He gets betrayed. Why?" David asked in response. It wasn't a fair question, since Troy would instinctively think he was talking about the friends Troy had left behind when he ran away from home. Troy didn't want to respond, but he knew he had no choice.

"Because life's not fair." Troy responded quietly as the two began to walk once more. The moon hung like a glowing pendant high in the sky, guiding the two with it's soothing light. It wasn't harsh like the sun's light. It was soft and peaceful.

"A good answer. Sheex said because the traitor wasn't really a friend to begin with. Lucifer told me that the friend was weak for trusting in the first place so he deserved it. I think I like your answer the best." David said with a soft smile as he picked up a pebble and tossed it into the ocean. Troy watched the rock sail away into the night before speaking again.

The two had talked for a while. David promised Troy would remember none of this, but that didn't make Troy feel any better. Learning you were the creation of another being was hard enough. Learning you were destined to fail from the start was almost unbearable.

"So that's it? I lose because someone has to? That's not..." Troy let his voice drown out. David didn't need to hear the rest of the sentence.

"Fair. I know. But, that's how it is." Troy continued to stare at the ocean as David placed a hand on the man's shoulder. David's hand was warm and comforting. Troy wondered if it was really warm and comforting, or if his creator had simply willed it to be.

"Wanna give up?" David asked quietly. Troy shook his head.

"Even if I know I lose, I have to try. I know I can never atone for what I've done, and I never will. Never again will I find the peace I lost, but I still have to try. I have to keep going." Troy turned to look at David, his cold eyes expressing no loathing at the creator who damned him to suffer. They were simply sad.

"Why?" David asked.

"Because life may not be fair, but that doesn't I should give up on it."

"You won't succeed."

"I know. But I have to try."

"Again, I must ask you, why?"

"Because giving up would be the worse sin I could possibly commit. But of course, you already knew that." Troy said with a sad smile. The wind picked up slightly, causing Troy's wavy hair to flutter about. It felt good.

"Another good answer." David said with a smile of his own as he gently patted the man's back. Troy began to walk away while David turned his attention to the blue ocean that rolled back and forth at his feet. It took a while, but Troy stopped and turned to look at David one last time, and summoned up the courage to ask one more question. The most important one of all in Troy's mind.

"My sister. What about her? Does she find happiness? Does she find peace?" Troy said, his voice quivering in fear of what might be said about the person he cared the most about.

"Yes. It takes some time, but she ends up being very, very happy." David said as he picked up another pebble and played with it in his hand.

"Any particular reason?" Troy asked. David just flashed a grin.

"Because sometimes, despite all the crap in the world, some things just go right. Sometimes faith is rewarded." David saw Troy's face relax. His eyes were still sad, but they were not so painful to look at anymore.

"Then, although I will never know peace again or rid myself of this guilt, I will do my part. I will not bring a tear to my beloved sister's eye by giving up. That would be the worst sin I could commit." Troy said as he smiled one of his rare smiles. It wasn't a real smile, the sadness could still be seen in it. But, there was something else in that smile. Something hidden that no one could really see, but everyone could sense. It was a good smile.

"Farewell." Troy said as he turned around and walked away. David simply remained rooted were he was, staring at the ocean and playing with the pebble in his hand.

"Giving up is the worst sin you can commit huh? I've always thought the same myself." David said softly as he tossed his pebble into the ocean. It sailed gracefully through the night sky, and it landed exactly where David had aimed it. He smiled and turned to look towards Troy, but the man was already well out of David's sight.

"I always liked you Troy." David said softly.

[Inkfinger]

It was warm and muggy – May in Pennsylvania is almost guaranteed to be bipolar at the best of times, and this spring was no exception. But, at least, the thunderstorms of the night before were gone, and the sun was peeking through a layer of soft grey clouds. At least they’d got the kids outside today. Another day trapped in a ten by twenty room with twenty five-year-olds probably would have driven her insane.

The girl slid into her car with a sigh, throwing her messenger bag on the seat. She had the car started, the music blasting out of her speakers before she realized that the bag hadn’t actually hit the seat.

“The kids seem to like you.” The voice that came concurrent with the realization was soft; husky and accented strangely, but ultimately harmless sounding. The girl, nevertheless, slammed on the brakes, almost fishtailing over the left lane and into a row of pine trees.

“Who are you?” She yelled, already grabbing for the door handle. The moment she actually looked at him, though, she knew: from his hunched posture in the passenger seat, the dingy clothes hanging off a frame that was skinnier than could be entirely healthy, the black and red and blue and green ink staining his fingers, and the vicious, not-yet-entirely-healed brand burned across the back of his hand. Those hands, fine-boned and crooked fingered, scarred and stained, constantly in motion…

He smiled, crookedly, in a way that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t you know me?”

“…Cael.” The girl almost cursed herself for even asking the question. “Of course I know you. I know all about…” She trailed off, hitting the gas again to hide the reactions that her trains of thought were bringing to mind, cracked the window a couple inches to let fresh breeze through. “…you.”

Cael sighed, softly, hands still moving. “I kinda guessed you might.” There was shame in his voice, barely audible, but there. The girl snuck a look at her creation out of the corner of her eye as she made a left instead of driving home. He was every bit as awkwardly adorable as he was supposed to be, but to see the effect of everything he’d been through –everything she’d put him through- up close and in person…

“There’s paper and a pen in the console,” she said, abruptly, knowing why he was fiddling. Why he seemed so awkward. The coat was gone, the brand was fresh, and (to be honest) he still smelled. Clearly, wherever this specter of her character had come from, it was in the middle of his jail time. He probably hadn’t touched paper in a month. And he probably felt awfully dirty.

And it was her fault.

There was something childlike – not childish, the two are very different concepts – about how quickly he opened the console, pawing aside a stack of cds to get at the notepad and the ballpoint. His hands were all but shaking as he tore a piece of thin, porous, poor-quality paper off, folding and creasing in an easy, almost careless, way that made the girl – who had always, and probably would always, sucked at origami – jealous. His fingers left reddish smears –dirt and sweat and blood- on the white.

“Why?” He asked, quietly, halfway to the supermarket.

“Why what?” She asked, though she knew very well what.

Cael, wordlessly, indicated the back of his hand, tugged aside the rags of his shirt to display finger-shaped bruises visible just above his bony hips, and the healing scabs of whip-scores. She cursed again, aloud but beneath her breath, when she realized she couldn’t just pretend he hadn’t asked the question, and that she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Because the lives of happy people, who never have anything ever happen to them, do not make for interesting reading.” She confessed, shifting her fingers on the steering wheel. “If it’s any consolation, you get a happy ending?”

He just grunted, concentrating on the tiny crane clutched between his fingers. The girl sighed, pulling into the market’s parking lot and into a parking space without remembering to signal.

“It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

He didn’t look like he believed her as he carefully tucked the crane into a pocket and began tearing off a second piece of paper. The girl leaned against her door, watching quietly.

“Is Ludvik,” Cael asked softly as he began folding again, “ever coming back for me?”

The girl paused, glancing at her own hands. They still smelled like sunscreen and bleach, and they were so much cleaner than Cael’s. But she’d written all the horrors and humiliations he’d gone through. In some ways, she supposed, that made them far less clean.

“No,” she finally answered. “He listened to you. Got his kids and his wife and the rest of your family and ran. They’re probably in Scara Brae or something by now. But he thinks about you all the time.” Your dad won’t talk to him. she left out. They all think he left you to die. “You’ll see him again.”

She couldn’t recognize the shape he was folding this time, but he was concentrating on it with all his might, as an excuse, she rather thought, not to look at her.

“Is that another promise?”

“Yes.” And it was. For now. All stories change while they are being written, and Cael’s was no different. But it wasn’t a lie, and she hoped he could sense that. She reached out to brush a lock of filthy hair back from his face. He flinched away from her touch, as if it would burn. Knowing what he knew, he probably thought it would. She sighed yet again, and let her hand drop.

“I’m going to go get you tea,” she finally said, popping the door open. “I’ll be right back.”

Don’t wander off.

The supermarket wasn’t busy, but she dawdled and lingered, as if expecting to see a cringing, hangdog form slumping around every corner, instead of the tall, proud man he could – and would one day be – become. She could see the faces of his tormentors, his captors and rapists, looking out from her eyes in every refrigerator door. But, and she forced herself to look, she could also see every friend, every rescuer, everything good in the world she’d written him into.

She finally found the tea (he liked tea; that was one of the things that had remained constant), paid, and headed out to the car.

He was gone by the time she got there, of course. She stood outside the driver’s side door, feeling dejected. She hadn’t had a chance to say she was sorry, to promise him once more that he would rise from the (proverbial) ashes. She opened the door, set the tea on her messenger bag, and blinked.

Setting in the middle of the passenger seat was an origami turtle. Her ballpoint pen was gone.

She may not have had a chance to tell him, but somehow she guessed that he knew. She started the car again, and drove off towards home, thunder again rumbling in the distance. Time to put her boy back on the path to freedom.

And maybe, for once in her life, she would actually try the tea.