CHAPTER 9: Living with the Creator
696 Words
VERA
"Hide! Hurry!"
The Author—a thin guy named Nico—panicked. He quickly shoved Arlo into his closet, which was crammed with old school uniforms and piles of shoes.
As for me, he pulled me under his bed. It smelled of dust and laundry—socks that hadn't been put away properly. Unpoetic. All too real.
"Nico? Why is the door locked?" I heard a woman’s voice from outside. His mother.
"Just a second, Ma! I'm changing clothes! The room is a mess, I'm just tidying up!" Nico shouted. His voice was trembling. It was obvious he wasn't used to lying in real life, despite how good he was at inventing stories on w*****d.
I heard his mother’s footsteps fading away. Nico let out a deep sigh before signaling me to come out.
"It’s okay... she’s gone," he whispered.
I crawled out. I stood up and brushed off my tactical gown. Arlo emerged from the closet with a hanger still hooked to his shoulder, looking thoroughly disgusted by the smell of the shoes.
"Is this the 'Real World'?" Arlo asked. He approached the window, his eyes widening as he saw the streets, neighbors doing laundry, and children playing sipa outside.
"No pixels. No neon lights. And why... why does everything look so small?"
"Because this isn't a story, Arlo," Nico said, sitting in his gaming chair with his head in his hands. "This is reality. Here, you have to eat, you have to sleep, and you have to pay the electricity bill."
I looked at Nico. On the screen, he seemed powerful. His every word was law. But here, he just looked like an exhausted student with dark circles under his eyes.
"Why do you do this to us in your story, Nico?" I asked. I stepped closer to him, not to hurt him, but to understand. "Why does it have to be all pain? Why does someone always have to die?"
Nico looked up at me. "Because that’s what people read, Vera. It’s called conflict. No one would read the story if everyone was just happy from beginning to end. I kill off characters because that’s what’s needed for a book to go 'viral'."
"So, our lives are just for views?" Arlo interjected, his voice thick with resentment. "You killed my family... just for votes?"
Nico looked down. "I'm sorry. I didn't think that... that you were real to yourselves. To me, you were just codes on a screen. An escape from my boring life."
I picked up the pen from his desk—my Fountain Pen, which was now out of ink.
"Now that we’re here, what’s your plan?" I asked. "We can’t stay under your bed forever. And your story... what happens to it? Time froze there the moment we left."
Nico turned to his laptop. The screen was still frozen on Chapter 8. But something strange was happening. The comment section was exploding.
[ COMMENT: 'Admin, why is the page blank?!' ]
[ COMMENT: 'Hey, where is Vera?! Did w*****d crash?' ]
[ COMMENT: 'I have a feeling... Vera is coming for the Author. LOL!' ]
"The readers..." Nico whispered. "They’re looking for you. And if I don’t update, they might report my account. Everything I worked for will be gone."
"I have an idea," I said, looking at the keyboard. "Why don’t you write the truth? Tell them we’re here."
"They’ll think I’m crazy! They’ll think I’m high or losing it!"
"Or maybe..." I smiled, "they’ll think it’s the most unique marketing stunt in the history of Wattpad."
Suddenly, there was another knock at the door. But it wasn't his mother.
A loud thud echoed, as if someone were trying to break the door down using black ink. A familiar static sound filled the room.
"The 'Forgotten Version' has found us," I whispered. "We weren't the only ones who escaped the screen, Nico. We brought your Deleted Files with us."
From under the door, a black liquid began to seep in. The ink started taking the shape of a person—a figure with no face, holding an eraser.
The 'Editor' sent by the system to fix the glitch.
- Writer
