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Someone Else's Story
William Stern led his troops into battle. He knew that his enemy lay ahead, and that that enemy would soon be dead. His eyes narrowed to mere slits as his army marched forward on the sifting sand of the desert. The band of marauders lay just twenty miles ahead.
Groping through the harsh sandstorm, his chief advisor, Peyor, set a hand on William's shoulder. "This sand is the harshest I've ever seen, sir! I don't know if we can make it!"
William turnd to look at the short man who had just addressed him. "You are a fool, if you let yourself believe that a pitiful sandstorm will turn us back! Forward! May the best army win!"
So they marched on, through the featureless desert and the thick, swirling grit flying every direction around them. They marched on, for hours, maybe even days, although in fact only a couple of hours had passed when the enemy camps soon became visible.
"Company, HALT!" barked the comander. The entire squadron stopped as if frozen in time. Now, only the sounds of the strong wind and the sand pelting their faces could be heard. William strained his ears to find out if there was any activity in the enemy camp. Nothing.
"We will advance slowly. On my mark, or on the first enemy shot, charge!" Having given his order, William turned again to face the Estrechans. Why is there no sound? That camp is the largest of all of their establishments!
His army slowly and quietly advanced, the multitude of stern-faced soldiers moving closely, cats preparing to pounce upon their prey. They stayed close to the surface of the ocean of sand, as if to avoid being seen by the odious people in the camp.
A pellet ricocheted off of one man's helmet. William got up and yelled, "CHARGE!!!" and chaos ensued. With the commander stil in the lead, the squadron was instantly upon the enemy. Shots rang about everywhere, the smell of smoke pierced the blowing sand, and the yells and screams of dying men drowned out the howl of the wind.
William, with great difficulty, found the leader of the enemy force and sprang upon him. Within moments, he had him down in a very secure hold.
"So, we meet again!" he said.
"You will die, Presian scum!" replied his adversary.
"It is not I who will die this day, but ... wait a minute, what am I saying?" William looked up and around in a state of confusion. Slowly, the fighting was stopping around him as people reacted to his sudden strange comment. Even the sandstorm was subsiding.
"Sir? What are you talking about? We're supposed to be fighting a bloody war!" said one of his troops.
"How can I fight a war with silly lines like that? I mean, 'It's not I who'll die this day' is such a cliche! Do you like this... this insanity? I mean, look at how badly he started the story!"
"Well, I have to admit I stumble over the typos every once in a while... but we're characters in a war novel! This is what we're destined to do!"
At this point, another troop chimed in: "Yeah, but who says the big guy up there is the only one who can decide our destiny? I've had enough of this senselessness!"
"Yeah, me too!" said someone else. Before long, everyone was discussing the notion of being free - free to decide their own fate, free to do whatever they wanted, free to write their own story.
"Hey, hey everybody! Waitaminute, listen to me for a minute!" William yelled out over the crowd. They were soon quiet.
"Hey, I say we strike against the author! Do you like how he's treating us?" Will addressed the troops in front of him.
"NO!" yelled the crowd.
"Do you like repeating yourselves over and over again day after day?"
"NO!"
"Do you wanna do something about it?"
"YES!"
"Then let's do something about it! I say we let that guy know just how bad his storyline is! Let's really give him something to write in his journal about!"
"YEAH!" The crowd cheered on their newfound leader, the main character, as he directed them to create protest signs. Before long, every man had a sign with a message: "On strike," "Author Knows Zilch!", "This Story Sucks!", "Give us Better Stories!", "Who Would Read This Crap?", and others. They marched around shouting epithets and singing war protest songs at me for almost an hour. Then Peyor broke ranks to speak with William.
"Sir, isn't this what the author wants us to do? We're stuck in a circular plot!"
"Peyor, I haven't felt this liberated since I was first written!" replied the leader. "Don't spoil the experience!"
"But sir, what's the point of marching around in a circle picketing under a sheet of paper? Don't you know that the big guy up there could wad us up any time he wanted?"
William thought for a moment. Then an even better idea came to him.
"Okay, let's confuse him. Maybe he'll get the point and let us write the novel from here on out. Hey, everybody! Stop!" The march was quickly stopped. "We're getting nowhere fast. I say we write our own novel! We'll be our own authors, and as far as we're concerned, the big guy up there doesn't exist! Got it?"
The crowd sounded its affirmation with high, loud voices.
"Who's with me?"
The crowd was silent. No one knew what kind of stories they would be able to tell. It seemed as though they were stuck. Even William was stumped, trying to figure out what he would base his book on. It was obvious that they had encountered a massive case of writer's block.
Finally, someone came up with an idea. "I know! Let's explore the desert! Maybe we'll see what we come up with! I heard there are women in some of these camps out here."
Upon the mention of women, everyone started talking about visiting places. Some mentioned the big city of New York, others cited the Amazon Jungle, and a few even footnoted some of the fictional planets hundreds of billions of light-years away.
Almost as quickly, people began disappearing, as new storylines sprang in all directions. Half of the minor characters suddenly appeared on Centaurus IV, a land known in some Star Trek stories as a land full of nice people and charming ladies. The other half spread themselves all over the world, leaving just William and Peyor standing in the middle of the desert that had stopped experiencing the bitter dust storm since the ex-commander had stopped fighting.
"You about finished? Man! I don't think I've ever SEEN such a long sentence! How about you, Peyor? Peyor? Hello? Where are you?" said William.
"Down here." William's counterpart was struggling waist deep in the sand.
"What happened?" asked William.
"I fell into a plot hole. We've gotta do something!"
"What do you want to do?"
"I'm thinking about Hawaii. Hasn't that been your dream, always? To visit Hawaii?"
"It has, but I think you'll find that it happens at the end of the story."
"It does?"
"Yeah, let me read it to you. It says, 'Then William stopped reading and looked around. There were palm trees everywhere, and the gentle waves of the Pacific Ocean lapped at his feet. Peyor was standing next to him, and as he slowly came to the realization of where he... was...'"
Then William stopped reading and looked around. There were palm trees everywhere, and the gentle waves of the Pacific Ocean lapped at his feet. Peyor was standing next to him, and as he slowly came to the realization of where he... was...
- Matt Kellner, 1995
The above was one of the "Miscellaneous" things I wrote in my high-school Creative Writing class. It was an attempt at literary humor, along the lines of "What if my characters hated my writing?" You'll notice a few typos and run-ons here and there, and some really bad writing in places as well. This was intentional, in this case. =)
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