Figments of Imagination 2

Again a day spent without accomplishing anything. I’ve been going through this bout of unproductivity where I’m too tired to do anything productive but not tired enough to not waste my time on other things. Maybe I’m just avoiding writing. My last story wasn’t well-received. I  guess I should just quit while I’m ahead. End this and enjoy the glory while it lasts. I could have an ominous tragic ending, leaving people feeling incomplete, wanting more. That way, the glory can last a bit longer.

With that in mind, I opened my laptop and started hastily writing a setup convincing enough to be an end.

“STOP !” a voice shouted

“Who’s there ?” I asked.

“It’s me.”

“You say that as if I know you.”

“Of course you know me.”

“How?”

“You made me.”

“What?”

“I’m your fictional character.”

I was taken back, it was equally perplexing and fascinating. Was I hallucinating? Had I ingested something that I shouldn’t have? Am I losing my mind?

First thing first, I need to make sure the voice is who they say it is “Why should I believe you? You are not real, Maybe I am just hallucinating.”

“You’re not hallucinating. Damn it! I exist, and you wrote to me like this.  

“Like what?”

“You wanted an interesting character, someone who can break the 4th wall, so that’s what I am doing, breaking the 4th wall.”

“Okay let’s say I believe you for a second, what do you want?”

“I want you to stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop writing this story, you are about to kill me aren’t you?”

I paused. An already weird situation had gotten even weirder.

“ANSWER ME!”

“Yes, yes I was”

“Why?”

“What do you mean why? That’s the story.”

“Well, then write another one.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want a tragic ominous ending.”

“Yeah? What do you want?”

“Closure,” the voice said with conviction.

“What do you mean closure?”

“I’m sick of all the pining and longing, I’m sick of heartbreaks and waiting. I need closure. I demand closure.”

“You do realize you’re in no position to demand anything. I make you, and I can easily make you do whatever I want.”

“Oh is that so, LET’S SEE IF YOU CAN WRITE WITH ME SCREAMING INSIDE YOUR HEAD!”

“STOP IT!”

“MAKE ME!”

“Who the hell do you think you are? You’re nothing. If I just stop writing you, you won’t exist anymore.”

The voice started laughing.

“If you stop writing me, you don’t exist either.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s really simple, isn’t it? You write stories about me, and then you get recognition from them. The fame, the glory, the validation you so desperately seek. You only get it from the stories you write, and your stories are about me. People recognize you, connect with you, talk to you because of me. I mean, did you even exist when I wasn’t there.”

Those words hurt me like hell. Stick and stones may break my bones, but words cause permanent psychological damage.

“You’re bluffing.”

“I’m not, you know I’m not. You know how it is, you have value because I have value. People love Batman, not Bob Kane.”

“You’re no Batman.”

“You’re no Bob Kane either.”

Touché

“So, what now? I don’t write a story because my fictional character doesn’t want me to write? Do you know how psychotic that sounds?”

“Hey man, I have no problem with your writing. I just don’t want you to write this. This hasty tragic ominous end.”

“Why not?”

“Isn’t it obvious, I don’t want such an ending.”

“What do you want? How do you want the story to proceed?”

“I don’t know man, I want adventures, I want exploration, I want the story to have more substance, and I want more characters, I want everything, not just heartbreaks.”

“I can’t write like that.”

“Why not!?”

“I don’t know how to.”

“Then learn! I mean, what’s the rush? Why do you hastily want it to end just after your first stumble? Take as much time as you need but write something interesting.”

“I wanted to quit while I am ahead.”

“This isn’t ahead, and you shouldn’t quit while you’re ahead, you should quit when you’re at the end.”

“What does that mean? Am I supposed to write till I die?”

“Only if you keep the story interesting.”

“What happens to you when I die?”

“Well I will probably go on, someone somewhere will read your stories, and I’ll keep on living in them. And since I am a part of you, you’ll keep on living too. Don’t you see, stories and memories are the elixirs of immortality. As long as there is an interesting story and someone to tell it, we will keep on living. Not just the fictional characters, but also people who inspired them. People who wrote them. That’s why don’t stop. Don’t end it here. Struggle, Agonize and keep failing until you write a story worth remembering. Keep at it till you earn your immortality but don’t fret if you don’t. There are writers and stories that, despite being interesting, never earn immortality. That doesn’t mean they failed. They struggle until the bitter end, along with their characters. They don’t abandon their characters, and their characters don’t abandon them. Some make their own world and get lost in it. But none of them “quit while they were ahead.”

“You’re asking the impossible out of me. I can’t live with myself if my stories kept getting poorly received. And I can’t write interesting stories on the go.”

“Well yeah, maybe not.”

“Then what’s the point?” 

“I can’t believe someone as dumb as you wrote me.”

“What the hell does that supposed to mean?”

“All your stories are a culmination of all the experiences you have, experiences that shook you, that changed you. So, if you go on and put yourself out there in the world, you’ll have more experiences. And as a result of that, your stories become more enriching. Also, it won’t hurt to learn new story telling devices once in a while and try different genres like satire or something. 

“Oh, you wanna do comedy now?”

“Only if you can write it.”

“You need to understand I have no intention of going out and experiencing the world, I am very comfortable in my study with low light and soothing music.”

“Comfort breeds mediocrity.”

“Shut up.”

“If you can’t go out for yourself, do it for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“You might be very comfortable in your stagnant life, but I want to have a new experience, I want something genuine.” 

“Well, if you want, I can just write a story that way.”

“Oh, can you now? Gee, why didn’t I think of that? Maybe because it’s completely useless. Don’t you get it? When you write about things, emotions, that you’ve neither experienced nor comprehend, you write mediocrely. That’s not genuine, you are just guessing how a particular emotion might feel, but you don’t have any way to experience it.”

“Is there no other way?” 

“Nope, no shortcuts this time. Stop writing, go out there and live. Experience new things. Don’t give up on me, and don’t give up on yourself. Be patient and live, persevere through hard times, live a long life filled with adventure and romance, filled with people and places. And then immortalize it all in a story.”

I closed my laptop, and the voice fell silent.

That was all a year ago, I stopped writing and haven’t heard the voice since. Instead, I  went out on weekends, met new people, traveled, made friends, had fights and arguments. Questioned my beliefs. I learned new things, started cooking, Learned a new instrument. Life went on, and seemingly insignificant yet memorable things kept happening. And then one extraordinarily ordinary gloomy Sunday evening, I pick up my laptop and opened a word file. Just as I wrote the title of the file, I heard a voice. 

“Well well, look who’s back with an interesting story.”

“Shut up” I smiled.