Curious

Chapter 11: The Truth About Character

CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Truth About Character

"Wh-what is going on?" Simon asked, looking from me to Hai Lun and then back again. The poor dear. I almost didn't want to ruin his life, but then I would have no interesting story to tell, and where is the fun in that?

"Come," I repeated. "I will explain."

Simon looked back at Hai Lun for confirmation. Hai Lun nodded in agreement, though his face told Simon he was saying goodbye to the sacrificial lamb.

Simon believed whatever bullshit Hai Lun had pasted on his face and he walked up to me, unsure, stopping a few feet away.

I began to walk and he fell in step next to me. We walked in silence for a while; him trying to figure out what was going and what I wanted from him; and I trying to think of the right words to explain what I was about the explain. This would be a historical moment for I, a writer, was going to explain to my character, that he was a character in a story. It was one of those things so rarely done I had no idea on how to go about it so like with all things unknown, I plunged in and decided to improvise.

I was going to be completely upfront about it—or at least as upfront as I could be without ruining the storyline. "I don't know how to begin."

"I don't know what you're talking about," was Simon's helpful response. Well, if I wanted him to be helpful, I wouldn't have made him such a grumpy fellow.

I sighed. "I will begin with the very beginning and tell this story chronologically. That I believe will be the best timeline. But I will preface this story with the warning that I won't be sensitive to your feelings and dumb the truth down for you. Will that suit you?"

"I suppose," Simon said. By this time, he was burning with curiosity. He just wanted to know what I had to tell him, though, unlike me, he didn't yet realize the importance of it.

"You are not who you think you are. I mean, you are what you think you are, but your life encompasses a lot more than that. You're....you're, um, not a real person." I paused, looking over at Simon, who was glaring at me through narrowed eyes. "You don't necessary exist in real life—well, exist isn't the right word to use in this situation, because your life does exist but it exists in a different realm, a different state of mind," it struck me that no matter how decent of a writer I was, I definitely wasn't the best in confrontational, confessional situations. "You play a special role. You're..." I sighed, letting out the stress and breathing out in relief. Finally, the big reveal. "You're a character, you're a character in a book, a book that I'm writing. I'm the writer. You're the character."

Unsurprisingly, Simon didn't seem to believe me. I wouldn't believe me either. First of all, it was a stupid speech, obviously not constructed correctly. Second, the concept was too strange.

"I am telling the truth." I insisted.

"I never heard a truth so ridiculous," Simon retorted.

There was nothing I could say to that.

"Let me start over, this time really at the beginning. Do you remember your life before you moved to Seventh Mile Island because of your crazy PTSD incident?"

"How do you—"

"Great! You and Adam after your father's death and a dare dropped out of college and joined the army. Adam went into the army because it was a tradition in his family and you followed him because Adam sadly is your only friend. You were surprisingly good at what you did as a sniper. So good that your story made me millions. I wrote the fictional story of a grumpy, high class guy who joined the army and how the things he did in the army slowly ate at his soul. I wrote that story. I published that story. People bought that story. People read that story."