I Killed My Favourite Story

A Note From... Whoever I Am Now: Yeah, so—this mess of a story? It’s officially part of WSA 2025. Clap, cheer, pretend to care. Or don’t. Honestly, if you’re even glancing at this, that already means more than I’m willing to admit out loud. Thanks for being here. Read, vote, ghost me—I’ll still say “thank you” --- Synopsis: Reality? Kind of a joke, honestly. Fiction? That’s where things actually started to make sense. I was ten when the curtain slipped. When I saw it—how everyone was just acting. Reciting lines they didn’t believe, chasing dreams they didn’t choose. Adults called it "growing up." I called it what it was—fake. So, I stopped playing along. While everyone else clung to the script, I escaped into stories. My favorite? No Happy Ending in the 999th Regression. Cale Ashblood—tragic, cursed, and stubborn as hell—died 998 times trying to fix a world that didn’t want saving. It was brutal. It was honest. It was the only thing that didn’t lie to me. Then the author died. And the publisher? They butchered the ending. Wrapped it up in something clean, hollow, marketable. I tried to let it go—I swear I did. But the anger never left. Twelve people. That’s how many I killed. Editors. Ghostwriters. Everyone who helped ruin the only thing I believed in. But here’s the part no one knows: I killed the original author. Not on purpose. One night. One stupid, drunk mistake. And that was enough. Now I’m bleeding out. Real world. Real consequences. No regrets, though. Except— The story didn’t end. I woke up inside it. Inside his world. Cale’s world. The one I knew better than my own life. Except now... it is my life. The World is still broken. The Constellations are still watching. And peace? Still a myth. But maybe this time, I get to write the ending. Maybe this time, the story’s mine. ---