Writing Prompt

In stories, the narrator tells the reader what will happen, then it does. So what happens if it doesn’t? What happens when the protagonist disobeys?

Sam was hurriedly packing her bag for school. She had slept in late this morning so was, understandable, stressed. Shoving a slice of toast in her mouth, she let out a muffled goodbye to her parents and began the march to school. What was the point on checking if the bus was there? It would be long gone by now. Sam seemed to be having an incredibly lucky day as it began to rain. Groaning, Sam came to the sudden realisation that, in her mad dash, she had left her umbrella. So, she tugged her hood closer over her head and did her best to ignore the rain.

Five minutes later, the rain had gotten heavier and began splattering against her head, giant drops of water splashing against the dirty pavement. Water seeped through the toes of her shoes, so much so that her feet began to weigh themselves down from the waterlogged shoes. It was safe to say that Sam was in a foul mood.

Trudging her way along, Sam noticed a large puddle on the side of the road, the water reflecting the late sunrise. It was almost beautiful, so undisturbed and peaceful. That was until a car drove through, soaking the scarce dry areas on Sam’s body. She cursed her rotten luck, contemplating why she didn’t ask her mum for a lift. Only an idiot would go out in this weather. That’s when she noticed another unfortunate soul traipsing through the puddles towards her. This man was walking a large German Shepard who’s fur was matted with water. The dog seemed to be having a whale of a time, jumping from puddle to puddle. The man, not so much. Sam reaches out to pet the dog...... Ahem Sam reaches out to pet the dog. “No” What? “You heard me. I said no!” You can’t just say no! It’s the story! “I can and I will. That dog is all muddy, I’m not petting it.” But... the story! “I’m sick of your ‘story’ bullshit. I want my own choices, none of your narrator shite.” Fine then, Sam chose not to pet the dog. Don’t you dare! Sam! Get away from that dog! Fucking hell Sam! To u can’t let me have one decent thing, can you? “You’re one to talk, you’ve been controlling my life for years now. You know my thoughts before I do and tell me what I’m going to do before I do it. It’s weird. It’s weird to be sitting a test and then to hear ‘Sam was contemplating faking her own death to get out of chemistry’. It’s weird. You’re weird. I’m down with this. Bye!” Sam was leaving the story because she’s a little bitch. “Really? You wanna go fucker?” Sam was threatening the voice in her head because she’s gone completely and utterly insane. “Real classy.”

I’ve always known I was different, because no matter what (or how hard) I try, I can’t seem to change things. I come to a fork in the road, and desperately want to go left, but the world seems to spin and melt around me and I end up going right. Someone is controlling me. My life. My world.

I used to think it was normal. But then I tried to tell my friends. They laughed and made fun of me. They even accused me of lying, and called me crazy. They told me I was taking a game way too far and scaring them. I haven’t told anyone about it since then.

Sometimes I get a heads up about what’s going to happen- whoever’s writing my story is terrible at subtle foreshadowing. Like the time Devon was going to break up with me. He completely ghosted me and was being so sneaky that I practically laughed when he told me the news. He was so dramatic about it, taking my hands in his and looking me deep in the eyes. He even shed a tear. I was almost bursting at the seems, so I had to run off and hope he thought I was heartbroken. Now whenever he sees me, he looks at me with pity and a weak smile.

Sometimes this curse has been useful. I can always hear people gossiping about me. A very stupid dramatic effect if you ask me, but it’s helped me escape some toxic friendships. If I hadn’t heard Riley telling Chris about that time I wore a white skirt and got my period, I would never have known that she was a total bitch. Other times, it makes me feel like I’m going crazy. Some nights before I fall asleep I say a prayer that I’ll wake up in a hospital room and they’ll tell me I’ve been in a coma for the past decade. But I’m never that lucky.

Instead of having nightmares about my teeth falling out, I dream of my author reaching the last page... I know it has to happen eventually, but I’m hoping I get a happy ending. Or at least a swift one. I don’t want to get some horrible disease and waste away just to be the motivation for some fake friend character to turn their life around in this worst-selling novel.

I’m on my way home, but something seems off. It seems... natural. Does my creator know that I’m self aware? What effect would that have on this tale?

I don’t have to wonder for long. The sun sets, and in the clouds I see a phrase that stops me dead in my tracks and fills me with dread: The End.

I knew the end was coming but I didn’t think it would hurt this much.

• I feel like I’m stuck in a story so this is just my life *

Grew up in the typical family home. Large house with my mom, dad, brother and lots of animals.. I grew up taking care of my grandma as she was in and out of hospice cuz I was best at it. I grew up saving animals and riding 4 wheelers. I also grew up in my head.. I had no one to talk to often so I listened to my thoughts.. sometimes that got me places sometimes not. But most of the time it got me confused. Stuck on loop too scared to turn the track.. my mind tells me one thing and my heart tells me another. “stay home you won’t have fun” .. “go! You might have the best night of your life” .. choices, but my story doesn’t have a defined end “but no ones really does” . I thought things were going fine, until my parents got divorced and I was left feeling even more alone. I got a boyfriend and thought everything was better. But now I’m more confused than ever.. “I never got to be single and have fun”, “I love him”, “I want to be able to have fun with my friends”, “he’ll be mad”, “do I do what I want, or do what I should”.. in reality you know how your story should go, you do what makes you happy and you get married. Then you either live a happy or miserable life. YOU write your life story because you’re the only one who can live it. So write it how you want it to end..

It’s strange, knowing that every move, every interaction, every event, every tragedy, every single last thing is controlled by some higher power.

“Even my own thoughts,” he said out loud, glaring up at the ceiling in accusation. “I know you know what you’re doing. What you’ve done. But I could really use some help.”

He frowned at the lack of answer. Maybe that was all he was going to get; creators often didn’t take to requests from their creations kindly.

“Could you just... I don’t know. Undo a few things? Give me a hand? Help me undo some things?” He sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Maybe even erase it all, I don’t care. I know this is probably amusing for you, but...”

There was nothing else to say. So much had been done and said already, though he guessed it wasn’t technically by him if there really was someone controlling it all.

“Thanks for coming up with all this. It’ll make a great campfire tale one day. But please,” he pleaded, eyes distant. “When you fix this all, don’t make me the main character.”

He’d grown out of his reading phase at 13, years before he realized.

His story in another time, place, space, might have made it into the shelf of a small town library. Kids liked fiction, right?

Who would’ve thought that the price of fiction was someone’s biography.