It was on that day that he discovered the truth about his world....
Long before the advent of the Quirks, unknown year, unknown city...
"uh..."
"The wolf that walks like a human really exists?" the boy with black hair and gray eyes wondered.
This boy will not have a name in this story...
"You're injured.... You're going to die," the boy said simply, approaching the creature who was just staring at him with blank eyes.
How did it all start? There is no need for a tangible explanation.....
Simply because it's a fiction.....
"The werewolf is a very famous cryptid, I didn't expect to find a real one in this forest," he says simply, readjusting his glasses.
The wolf looked at him without a word, exhausted, as if carrying a weight greater than the death that awaited him.
"Where are you from?" the boy asked, crouching down next to the creature.
"I... I come from another world..." he said, looking at the artificial sky.
Created from scratch...
"Another world?" the boy wondered and then, as if a narrative force was answering him, the reality around him tore itself apart, shaped and reshaped, taking on a disturbing cartoonish aspect.
Before the boy's stunned eyes, heteromorphic creatures of all sizes, shapes and colours were playing, chasing each other and dying in grotesque ways to always come back to life as if nothing had happened.
"Where am I here?" the boy wondered, looking at himself, his whole being had metamorphosed to correspond to this strange world.
"It's my world, or rather the memories I have of him. I was cast out of there and condemned to live in your world because I made a mistake. A mistake that I don't regret"
"We are not real... What is reality when we are paper beings?"
"I don't understand, we are paper beings? We're not real?" the boy asked.
The wolf touched his face, his breathing weaker and weaker.
"In my world, we are condemned to play and die to amuse readers, beings who come from what is called 'real life'. We are the creations of authors, of people who shape our destinies, our characters, our appearance and our existence. They are gods who build our world. They come from real life, we are only there to satisfy their readers. "
"One day, I had enough. I no longer wanted to suffer eternally and condemned to be resurrected for the good pleasure of those who watch behind their screen. Of my own volition, I have taken my life. My soul went to heaven, where all our stories come to life and I confronted my author himself."
"She was furious, her readership had dropped because of me and so she chased me out of my reality. That's why I ended up here," he finishes as reality reassembles to return to the state it was before.
The boy says nothing, observing the sky, this sky that perhaps did not exist....
"You, me, everything you know... We are only fiction, beings created to be consumed, nothing is true.... And even this discussion I'm having with you... "
"It was the author who wanted it"
The wolf died...
The dark-haired boy looked at his body, his eyes empty and paralyzed...
That's where he saw the trail of blood... And before his eyes, he saw the pen colored the blank page where the wolf was.... The deep red color...
He was just a line on a blank page and the author was watching him....
It wasn't real....
His life.... His story was read, consumed, commented on....
He didn't know what to think anymore as the wolf's corpse lay on that blank page....
He was only words... Written by an author.....
"Characters have no existence outside of the words that compose them"
Roland Barthes
To be continued.....