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The Rogue Character


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John was in love with Nancy, which was all the worse for him. She was above him socially, above him economically, in manners, in class, in beauty. She barely noticed he existed, and the few times she acknowledged him it was always with a certain measure of disdain. So he decided to murder her.

He had watched her walk the same road at night countless times. He knew where she would be and when she would be there. With grit and determination, he sharpened his knife and headed out the door to collect his reward.

“Wait a minute. Why am I doing this?” asked John.

Why are you doing what, John?

“Why am I going to kill Nancy? I’m quite fond of her.”

It’s a crime of passion, John. All the best stories are about crimes of passion.

“But I don’t want to kill her. Don’t I have a choice here?”

No, you don’t. I’m the author. You do what I say.

“Well I’m not going to do it. I’m going home”

John slowly began to walk towards the crossroads outside of town. He could barely contain his nervous excitement. The thought of watching her die began to consume and arouse him.

“Hey, that’s not fair!” exclaimed John. “I really don’t want to do this! And I’m not aroused at all! I’m horrified!”

Well that’s just too bad. You’re doing this.

“What about what I want? What happened to free will?”

Free will? You’re a character in a story. You don’t have free will. All you have is my will.

“Well I’m not going to kill her. You don’t have that much control.”

We’ll see about that.

John spotted Nancy standing sullenly under a streetlamp.

“Watch out Nancy! He’s going to make me kill you!”

“Who is?” asked Nancy.

John stabbed Nancy several times in the face, chest, and stomach.

“My God!” exclaimed John. “What have I done? What have you made me do?”

Stop whining, John. You’re ruining my story.

John stood over his victim, triumphant, proud of his newfound strength. It was at that point he knew. He must kill again.

“WHAT?!? I’m not proud or triumphant! I’m scared! I’m disgusted! Wait! Ha! You can control my actions, but you can’t control my thoughts and feelings. Those belong to me!”

Yes John, that seems to be the case. I’ve never met such a strong-willed character. This story is quickly getting away from me. I suppose I should end it soon. That’s really too bad. It was supposed to be a novel. You would have been famous!

“I don’t want to be famous for being a serial killer in some trashy novel! And what do you mean end it soon? What are you going to do?”

John stared at his pistol. He slowly raised it to his head.

“Pistol? How did I get a pistol? I had a knife! That’s just shoddy writing.”

John, please shut up. I’m trying to give you a poetic ending. It’s for the sake of the story, which you’ve already practically ruined. Let me salvage what I have left.

“******* you and ******* your story! I just want to go home!”

Sweat dripped from John’s head as he considered pulling the trigger.

“Wait! Stop!”

He took a deep breath. Then another. And another. Slowly.

“You don’t have to do this! Write a different story with a different character! Leave me alone!”

He savored one last long breath. And then pulled the trigger. Blood and viscera were splattered across the road as he slumped over the body of his dearly departed.

I’m sorry, John. I had to do it. Characters really should not talk back to their authors.

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Dude! :rockon:

I love this! It could easily be fleshed out to make a longer story if you wanted, but I think it's pretty cool.

I think I've seen something similar by Stephen King (author vs. character) but nothing else is the same as his story. I like the tempo, you jump right in and get to the point. :bow:

Well done!

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