The Author

I find myself, standing on a ledge, about to jump off it. I look down and suddenly feel this great desire to just let go and let the cold water beneath the bridge envelope me. I've always loved the water, how it calms my body anytime I'm tensed up but this time... I'm not jumping in for pleasure. I think I've had enough of life and I just want to- "Sorry Ma'am" a man in black suit said as he accidentally bumped into me, jolting me back to reality. I straighted my mini red dress and balanced my weight properly on my heels before I walked back to my seat. I usually don't like events or dinner parties like these but it's the Annual Global Award for Prestigious Writers...how could I not attend. I've been writing fictional novels since the day I was able to pronounce the word "Onomatopoeia". I'm 24 and I've written over 50 novels–some of which still remains unpublished though–and I've never won an award for any of my books. I know I'm a good writer but maybe I'm not good enough? Well, I think I'm about to find out– "–and this year's Global Award for Prestigious Fictional Writer goes to– Becky Smith!" The uproar of applause sounds too loud and pretentious. I stand up from my seat carefully least I trip over the cute pair of Gucci heels on my feet. I wear a smile just as pretentious as the applause and cheers I'm given(because i know nobody seated in this over decorated hall really knows me enough to like me). "It is such an honor to receive this beautiful award and I am extremely happy to see that my talents are finally appreciated. Thank you" I'm about to step down from the podium when a young man calls out to me, probably 20 years of age. "Becky Smith! I'm a huge fan of your fictional book "IMPERIAL FICTION" but the ending was quite unsatisfactory and unfair, wouldn't you agree?" the young man said as he adjusted his glasses on his face. I never thought of any my books as "unsatisfactory". Yes, I know sometimes I can be brutal with the endings (90% of my books are tragedies) but then... doesn't life always end in tragedies? " IMPERIAL FICTION is a  fictional novel but I wanted to throw in a little of the real world into the book." I tried to hold his piercing gaze "...and the real world is unfair, so why should my book end on a fair note?" There was complete silence as I said my last line, I knew I had left the young man a little heartbroken. I stepped down from the podium and took my seat. The rest of the evening was fine but uneventful, not that I really paid attention anyway. I just wanted to go home to my apartment, have some Chinese tea and sleep till I drool over my pillow. You'd think a fictional writer like me would have quite an amazing lifestyle, well I do...I just don't think it's amazing anymore. Ever since my Father died. He drowned. I think of him often, how it must have felt for him to drown, that's why I think of drowning myself–not to actually kill myself but to know how he felt, how lonely and scared he must have been. If only I was able to save him, if only I was able to at least try to help him, maybe he would still be here smiling and hugging me. He would have called me and taken me out for dinner, I would have protested but he would have bought me dinner and a drink anyway. It's not like I don't have any other family members, I do actually. My mum's a nurse and she's always working at the hospital, although i don't live with her anymore, I wish she could take some time to rest and stay at home with my teen sister, Karen, at least so she doesn't have enough time or freedom to pester me! And then there's my cousin, Jade, he's an alcoholic and he only comes to me when he needs more money to get wasted again. I'm pretty sure my mum and Karen would have heard about my award and they'll both try to congratulate me and talk to me–mum would try to call me to invite me over for a family dinner and I would tell her I would be busy because I can't stand being in the same house I grew up in with...a Dad, Karen would ride her worn out bike over to the supermarket where I work part-time and try to persuade me to come for one of her basketball games...or is it football? Anyways, I would say no as usual. My mum thinks I blame her for my father being ambushed and tossed over a bridge late at night. But the truth is I blame myself for not agreeing to walk with him to the Supermarket about 2 blocks away from our house at 1am to get groceries for the house since mum forgot to do it for the umpteenth time and we were low on food. My latest fictional novel "Imperial fiction" is a mirror of how my life was, before my father died with dash of fantasy and that unrealistic perfection of course. Fiction isn't Fiction if it's too real or mundane...