“Bored?”

“What if I was?”

“I’d tell you to write.”

“I don’t have a story.”

“Sure you do; you have plenty of stories.”

“I don’t want to write them.”

“That’s bullsh*t. You’re dying to write them.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Yes you do. You should try.”

The girl turned to where the other was looking reproachfully at her and snarled. “Why? Why should I try? So that some fabulous monster can take the little girl or the little boy away to some fabulous nightmare land again? Just so I can make sure the kid can never come back, just like in all of my stories? Again? I’ve reiterated that enough. Every story, the same. No, I don’t think I will try.”

The other watched with veiled eyes. Always watching; different expressions, but they eyes were always there… “They’ll torment you then. If you won’t let them out. Those stories.”

“So what?”

“I think you should write them.”

“I don’t know how, even if I wanted to.”

“You don’t need to know. You just need to start.”

“Do you know why the monster takes him?”

“What?” The other’s brow furrows. “No. It just does.”

“Wrong. The little boy is taken because he doesn’t want to go. And every story where he wants to leave, he’s left behind; it’s all moralistic about reality and non-reality and the monster invariably has something profound to say about one’s place in the universe and how one should accept it. The formal use of ‘one’ instead of ‘you’ is key. And do you know what happens in the cases where the boy is taken?”

The other just looked at her. “I am a figment of your imagination, kiddo. I know what you know.”

“Then you won’t mind my monologing. When the kid, boy or girl, goes kicking and screaming, the reader will never, invariably, hear from the kid again. The world beyond is intuitively perceived as unfathomable and horrible.”

“What’s the point of this monolog?”

“I’m tired of writing the same story.”

“That sounded like two stories.”

“Two variations of the same story.”

“Then write something different.”

“There is nothing different.”

“Sure there is; you could have villains instead of monsters, quests…you could change your protagonist to something other than a child figure…”

“It would still be the same story. Or it would turn into cops and robbers.”

“I like cops and robbers.”

“I didn’t ask you what you liked. And changing the protagonist wouldn’t do anything; symbolically or metaphorically it all comes back to the same thing; a change in environment from known to unknown, and the protagonist’s reaction and adaptation to that.”

“No wonder you can’t write.”

“What?”

“You’re over analyzing it. Go brain yourself with a rock and I think you’ll come back just fine.”

“Did I ask for your advice?”

“No. I gave it. What else am I here for?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

“You could write about yourself.”

“I tried that.”

“You could try again.”

“You know how it went first time.”

“You could write about me.”

“There’s a difference?”

“Well, you talk to me.”

“It is essentially the same as talking to myself.”

“Does yourself answer back?”

“I don’t talk to her. I talk to you.”

“There’s a difference?”

No response.

“Okay. I’ll be helpful. What do you want?”

“What do I want?”

“Don’t repeat what I just said. Give me a non-comprehending stare if you don’t understand. What do you want? Do you want to stay, or go?”

“What the f*** does that mean?”

“Do you want to stay or go?”

“Okay you just asked me that question; what the f*** do you mean by it—”

“Exactly what you mean when you ask every one of your characters; what you meant when you asked yourself when you tried to write about her; what the monster asks and judges by, dipsh*t! Don’t play stupid, kiddo. It doesn’t become you.”

“You have no write to ask me that.”

“I have every right.”


“You know how I would answer.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“Then I want to hear you say it, kiddo.”

“Don’t call me kiddo.”

“Say it.”

“There’s too much self-analysis. I know I can get either result by saying the opposite; if I say one thing I know I’ll mean the other, and—”

“Stop. Just stop.”

“What?”

“That’s how you turn yourself in circles. Do not do that. Now please. Without analysis…would you answer yes or no?”

“To what question?”

No response.

“I don’t know…”

No response.


“No. I—I can’t answer that unless I’m faced with it.”

“What if you are faced with it?”

“I’m not.”

“Do you know that?”

“Don’t be a living f***, man.”

“You really want some story ideas kiddo?”

“I’m not answering that either.”

“Look behind you.”

Eyes in the dark. She doesn’t want to g—