Hiadel
Standing on Ann Marie’s front porch I looked at her pretty face. A carefully crafted curve on her cheek matched with a delicate nose and mouth. A bonnet helped cover her hair in a bun. Looking at the letter I held in my hand she reached out and took it from me. She ripped the letter with her fingers and reached in for the contents inside.
At that moment time seemed to stand still. The peacefulness of the summer air around us left, and the sun coming from over the horizon lost its energy. Energy that had been bubbling in me for this moment to pass settled, and the countryside was swept into darkness as the scene was set to pause.
---
Mr. White set his pen down. He didn’t know how to end it. His novel “The Winds of Love” was about to end and he couldn’t decide what Ann Marie’s fate should be. The letter in Peter’s hand was a letter from Salem College, and Ann Marie knew if she got in her father would force her to go and leave her lover, Peter, for a different life.
Deciding to leave the outcome for another time, he sat up from his desk and got ready for bed. Letting his old and frail body hit the bed, he let his mind doze off and the darkness that accompanied sleep overtake him.
---
The studio lights around the set came on and I was finally able to take off my retched farmer’s clothes. Unbuttoning my shirt and throwing it into a nearby bin I walked over to a table and picked up my street clothes, or as I would call them, “real clothes”.
I hated the fact that I have been born into this novel. It could have been a comedy or a horror story, but no, I got stuck in a melodrama. For my entire existence I’ve been stuck with Ann Marie, trying to survive in this environment. Every day all the characters would wake and come out of their costume rooms to perform onstage. Farmers and housewives sat on the set on the side, awaiting their minor roles as supporting characters in the novel. They all played to the tune of Mr. White, creating this melodrama.
It all disgusts me. I’ve always craved to be in one of those novels filled with action. Like those secret agent stories where the main character gets to sneak around and shoot people and score big with women hes never seen before. Sometimes I just want to break out and force my way into one of those stories and leave everything else behind.
Feeling my annoyance from across the room Ann Marie let out a sigh. I turned to her. She was sitting alone on that wooden porch with a mirror in hand, trying to fix her bonnet. All the other minor and supporting characters had packed their things and left the novel, vanishing into nothingness. We were the last ones at the studio, just about to finish the novel and move into whatever you might call a fictional afterlife once this novel was over with.
“Why do you always have to be so miserable?” Ann Marie said to me with a look of discontent. “Why can’t you accept this book and move on? We only have one more scene to play out and it’s all over with. Can’t you just relax a bit and enjoy the little things?”
“That’s the problem Ann, I refuse to sit down and take it. I can’t stand living here in a world I can’t appreciate.”
“So has none this meant anything to you? What about that time we were at the carnival, or at that wedding? Or that love scene out in the meadow? Doesn’t any of that even come close to meaning?” Ann Marie said, putting on her melodrama face.
I’ll admit that Ann Marie is pretty in general but I don’t like her as much as Mr. White lets on. Even throughout all the acting I’ve been doing with her I can’t bring myself to truly like her as much as the character in the novel does. I think it’s something about the set and clothing that just shuts me off from those range of feelings. Throughout most of the play she’s worn this massive billowing dress that just seems to make her look fat and too hard to take care off. That dress kills any manly desires I might have really wanted out of her. I can’t even begin to wonder why men of that time period would want that.
I returned Ann Marie’s disappointed gaze and turned to go to bed. Silently walking away from her I tried not to get too mad. She was such a nice girl; she didn’t need me fighting with her the day before the finale.
I wish I could change things. But how? Maybe if I’m lucky I’ll figure it all out. I’ll try to figure it out before Mr. White finishes the last sentence.
---
Reporters crowded the house, trying to get a glimpse of the action. Flashes and the scribbling of pen on paper could be heard as they all crowded around the room of Mr. White. In his bed a doctor kneeled beside him as he read his pulse. The doctor’s eyes saddened and he turned to the crowd.
“He’s dead” the doctor declared, before he was engulfed by more flashing and scribbling from the mob outside.
It only took the executor of Mr. White’s property a few weeks to sort out all of his belongings for his relatives. The one of major importance, his highly anticipated novel that hadn’t been finished yet, was going to go to his son, Greg White.
And a few days after this happened Greg White sat down to finish his father’s last great novel.
---
A few days of hard worked wrapped up “The Winds of Love” and all that was left was for Greg was to edit it and ship it to the publisher. Putting his pen down after all that hard work, he decided that he would finish the editing tomorrow.
Walking down his old hallway towards his bedroom he could begin to feel his eyes grow savvy. All it took was the gentle press of his covers against his body to rock him to sleep.
---
Greg woke up in his dream. He was strapped down tight in a wooden chair, his arms and legs covered with metal bonds. The only light came from a dinky lamp that swung slowly through the air above him.
Hearing the beating of feet he turned to the darkness that circled around him and saw Peter come from it. He had a baseball bat in hand, and was swinging it around playfully.
“Hi Greg” He said with an evil smile.
“Hi”
“Do you know why I’m here?” Peter asked him, letting his bat rest along his side.
“No”
“Let me tell you why. It’s a little something I think all authors or co-authors should know about their writing. Just like they have powers over us that we can’t control, we have power over them. They can write and make us do anything they want us to do, but when that author goes to sleep we have the power. Characters can access the brain and mind of the writer through the intimate connection they share when writing. The writer and character have to share this bond because if they didn’t the writer couldn’t convey true feeling as the character would feel in his writing.”
“Ok”
“So the reason you probably don’t hear about this happening, like what’s happening right now, is that normally this tie between character and author is balanced. The author doesn’t mind having his dreams invaded every once in a while by his characters. But when that balance is tipped, the character can strike back.”
“Like tonight?” Greg said, knowing this couldn’t be good.
“Like tonight.” Peter repeated, the smile on his face getting wider. “Tonight doesn’t have to be as bad as you think though. All I’m asking for is a little repayment. Your father, Mr. White, has kept me all locked up in that melodrama he calls a masterpiece. I never wanted any part of it, but I couldn’t do anything about it. That is, not until the other week. That week I discovered that I had the ability to transverse pen and paper through this unbalance that sat between you father and I. The night I discovered this ability I choose to come out of your father’s mind and kill him in his sleep. That is how he died. I killed him, and then covered it all up as a heart attack.”
Greg looked up at Peter and couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
“So” Greg said, trying to pull himself to cough out speech “if I don’t do as you say, you’ll kill me?”
“Yes” Peter said, his face a hole where his smile once lived.
“I’ll, I’ll, I’ll do anything you want!” Greg stammered out. “Just don’t kill me.”
“I thought so” Peter tossed a small list at Greg. “These are all the changes I want done to the novel. I don’t care if you have to start from scratch to get there, but this is what needs to change.”
Greg looked at the list and went over what was on it.
“I want to turn my boring melodrama life into something exciting” Peter said over Gregs shoulder. “It needs to be more than a story of love, but of action and danger also!”
“Ok, I’ll do it, just leave me be.” Greg said, slightly relieved.
“Good, I’ll see you tomorrow morning”
Peter walked away from the tightly lit circle and left Greg sitting there. Under the cover of the lamp’s light you could see a small smile form across Greg’s face. He wanted go give him exactly what he wanted. Two people can play at this game.
---
I had just told the biggest lie of my entire life. Kill his father? How absurd. I can’t believe he fell for it. I love lying to the authors; sometimes they can be so stupid. Characters sometimes lie, and I was surprised to see that I was successful with this one.
Closing the door behind me I walked through the dark studio corridors towards the main set. As I opened the door I discovered that my plan had worked. Instead of countryside sat the makings for a train scene. Looking around I saw people gearing up in outfits, taking guns and putting them underneath their heavy coats. A stage hand ran over to me as I neared the train.
“Here you go Peter, for the scene” he said, handing me a pistol.
Taking it in my hands I let the excitement overtake me. A gun! Finally I was going to be a part of something that was exciting. I would no longer have to deal with petty drama that was built for the average housewife. This is action! Violence is popular, and with this popularity I hope that the work I do here today will propel my legacy to its greatest lengths.
I got up on the set with the rest of the cast and the production started. I had gotten what I wanted.
---
Days and months rolled by as the team worked on the novel. Between train wrecks and hostage rescues Greg White took breaks and thought over how to end his production. The end loomed in the distance as revenge for Greg, and drove him to finish the novel.
Every night before going to bed he would think before shutting off about what Peter had said. Did they have those powers? Was he really in danger? Closing his eyes he decided only time would tell.
---
The final scene of the story loomed. Dragging the body of a dead evil doer down the hall I neared the exit. Blood seeped out of his back from gunshot wounds and stained the stone flooring. Propping him up against a wall I let his dead body bleed against the painted wall. Blood ran through his button down shirt and started to pool around his waist. My work here was done.
Exiting the villa from which I had done the crime I started walking down the street. It was a traditional Italian town, with the tight passageways and bustling streets filled with vendors. I tucked the revolver behind my back and made my way across town like nothing had happened.
Eventually I reached the other side of the beautiful seaside sown and approached an apartment building. Walking up a few flights I made my way to a door and knocked on it. It swung open and I found Ann Marie there, filling it with a silky yellow dress. She pulled me in, starting the last scene.
Her yellow dress wasn’t at all like the one from before. It is a dress that’s enticing and even though I still don’t love that woman it does provide a home to manly lusts. We brought the movie to a close, old lovers once again reunited in that small apartment. All the evil in our fantasy world had been brought to an end.
Arms embraced around me I could feel her pull me close, using the training from our previous story to bring her character to tears, happy to see her old love again.
Through all that body warmth I felt something cold come out at me. It touched the temple of my head and made me shiver. It was a gun. A real gun. It wasn’t one of the fake ones used on the studio set that were hollow and weightless. This one was the real deal, with the cold steel weighing itself down against my head.
Ann Marie looked at me with her eyes, which were now cold blooded and serious. There was no melodrama there, they were completely real. She squeezed the gun closer to my head.
“I heard you were the one who killed Mr. White” she said.
I couldn’t answer.
“And I heard” she said, tears starting to form around her eyes “that you were possibly going to kill Greg” and pulled the safety off the gun.
“I can’t let you do that” more tears started to fall. She was actually going to do this. This was as real as it gets for a character. I knew there was only one way out of this, and that way was the truth.
“I lied” I said, and told her the truth about all of what was happening. I told her all about how I used Mr. White’s death to scare Greg into doing what I wanted. How I wanted to make our existence more meaningful than a typical melodrama. It is all there, all in her hands now. I feel so sorry for her. I feel like I just vomited on her, spilling the truth all over her and that lovely yellow dress..
“Then who killed Mr. White?” She said.
“I don’t know, but that could be found out in time” I said to her.
Pulling the gun down from my head she let it drop to the floor of the apartment. She took one of her hands and ran it down the side of my face.
“You know, you’re still as handsome as you were back there on that old country porch” she said, her tears drying up. “Come, we have a lot of things to talk about.”
With that last note she led me out of the room. I was so thankful that she had forgiven me.
THE END
Typing the last few words onto his laptop Hayes let a smile cross his face. He loved endings that danced around the line some people would call ‘cheesy’. Some people would say that Ann Marie forgave Peter too easily, but not Hayes. They were the only two for each other right from the start. Sure there were all those supporting characters, but they come and go like seasons. Ann Marie knew that, so she decided to give Peter another chance because he was the only other person in her life. Besides, Peter was only trying to make their character lives better for the both of them.
Hayes let his eyes roll down the few pages he had written, trying to fix the errors that were born into his story. Halfway down he started to have a hard time keeping himself awake. Maybe it’s best to save the rest of this for tomorrow, he thought to himself. He closed the lid of the laptop.
The door to his room opened, and there stood Peter. He let a small gun hang from his hand, and looked at Hayes across the room.
“I heard you were the one who got the idea to kill off Mr. White” he said, raising the gun.
“Please, I’ll do anything you want!” Hayes said, shielding his face.
“Too late, you messed with the wrong group of characters” Peter said as he took a step closer.
“You know, you were right about characters lying about certain things.” He said with a smile. “We do have powers that your kind don’t know about. Besides, you’ll be remembered for something great. Violence is popular, right? You at least taught me that much.”
*Bang*
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