The Narrator Part 10

Part 10

A small, warm room waits for us on the other side of the door, lit with several dozen candles spread across the various shelves and surfaces. I step out in front of Bastian, crossing the threshold before him and scanning the room. The walls are lined with shelves filled from floor to ceiling with hand-bound books and stacks of loose papers. One shelf houses a dozen small jars of dark liquid, another with a pile of goose feathers and metal nibs. 

I can hear scuffling in the distance, somewhere deeper into the room behind the shelves and it reminds me to keep my sword up and ready to fight should someone spring from around a corner. I check over my shoulder and see Bastian peeking around the other end of a bookshelf, searching for threats. Luda sidles up beside me and nods encouragingly toward my end of the bookshelf. I return the nod and move to the end, press my back to the shelf, and slowly poke my head around th-

“AHH!” Someone screams and I hear a clatter of glass and the splash of fluids on the stone floor.

“AHH!” I scream as I instinctively duck back behind cover, then remember that I am a main character and am supposed to be heroic, and I jump out from behind the shelve and brandish my sword.

“AHH!” The mysterious someone screams in response to my screaming and jumping and brandishing my sword.

“Ahhyuh?” I begin to scream in response but my fighting spirit becomes confused by the sight of a very young looking Elven man as he cowers upon the floor next to a platter with spilled mugs of… tea?

“You may lower you sword,” I hear Bastian say as he approaches. Another Elven man, his arms full of loose papers, follows behind him.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I mumble as I fumble about, trying to get the short sword back into its sheath. My hands are shaking from the adrenaline rushing through me and it takes me a moment.

“Wheres the Macguffin?!” Luda shouts, springing forward and waving his dagger in the elf’s face. The elven man cowers away from him, raising his hands defensively in front of himself. Bastian quickly steps between them.

“It’s alright, Luda. They’re peaceful and will not harm us.” Bastian says.

“Sorry,” Luda says and quickly lowers his weapon. “I got into the moment.”

Bastian nods and pats Luda on the shoulder before crouching and helping to clean the spilled tea.

“These are monks,” Bastian explains. “They wear robes similar to those worn by the Inkdrinkers of Southern Andelucia.” Gathering the mugs back upon the platter, Bastian rises, pulls the elf back to his feet, and places the platter in his hands.

“My apologies,” Bastian continues. “We were not expecting a monastery at the back of a dungeon.” The monk bows his head and turns to move off to disappear around a tall bookshelf.

“Uh, hey,” I say, nodding at the other elf as he shuffles papers between his arms. “Seen any, uh, macguffins around?”

The monk shrugs his shoulders at me.

“How about a scribe?” I ask with a chuckle. The monk nods once and turns away, moving off around a different tall bookshelf.

“Huh,” I mutter and look at Bastian. “He just nodded, right?” Bastian nods, returning my befuddled expression. “Should we, like, maybe… follow?”

As we stand about exchanging bewilderment, the monk returns and stands at the corner of the shelf, staring at us. The three of us turn and stare back at him. He nods his head at us, then jerks his head sideways, signalling us to follow, before turning around and moving out of view again.

“Yes,” Bastian says. “I believe we should.”

We follow the monk through a winding maze of shelves, all packed with volumes of books, until we enter a clearing surrounded by shelves. At the center rests a desk, and hunched over the desk in dark robes sits…

“The scribe!” I exclaim.

The Narrator Part 09

Part 09

“Where do we find the Scribe?” Bastian asks. I stare at him for a long moment as I consider this question.

“Well,” I begin, then pause, then open my mouth, close it, and finally I shrug. “I have no idea. I don’t know if he actually exists, to be honest. I’m just going off the fact that I am here, existing, as a hint that perhaps he exists as well.”

“Who is the Scribe?” Asks Luda.

“He’s the third of the writers trifecta,” I say, and when I see that my explanation has given him no satisfaction, I expound further. “There is a writers trifecta; three minds that process a story in order for it to be written. The Author is at the top, creating. The narrator searches the creations for stories, and follows them. The scribe actually puts those stories down and makes them coherent, so that others can partake. Does that explain it?” Bastian nods as Luda shakes his head.

“Well, I’m sure if we find him his presence will clear it up for you,” I say and reach forward to pat Luda on the head. Luda swats my hand away with the practiced effort of someone who has had to swat many hands away from patting his head.

“Alright, a new quest,” Bastian says, tapping thoughtfully at his chin with the tip of his sword. “First, we must find where this being is. Do you have any clues?”

I shrug.

“The scribe is at the end of this dungeon,” I mutter, “for all I know.”

I stumble as the ground suddenly jolts beneath me, shaking violently under my feet. Something in the distance rumbles deeply. I grasp at Bastian’s shoulder to keep myself upright and he grasps at my arm to hold me steady. Luda flops himself upon the ground before the quake can throw him down. Bastian… seems oddly unfazed, like some sort of perfectly balanced being.

“That is an ominous sign,” Bastian says. He helps steady me on my feet then swoops down to assist Luda back to his.

“Yeah,” I say, “Ominous indeed. Quite ominous… ominously ominous.” I pause. “Why do I keep saying ominous? Anyway, the best bet is to return to the nearest town and ask around. I am certain someone, somewhere, will know of the scribe.”

“I agree. However, I am still on a quest,” Bastian says. “I can not abandon a quest, it is against my adventurers code.”

I nod in understanding.

“Then I will head to town and start asking. You finish your quest and come find me when you’re oh my god, I’m splitting the party.” I nearly stab myself int he face as I bring my hands grasp at my hair. “I’m trying to split the party. Rule number something or other, don’t split the party. Yeesh.”

“I don’t think you an split the party,” Luda says from somewhere behind me. I turn and find him standing near the door we entered from; the handle is in his hand, but the door is still closed.

“You, uh… you broke the door, buddy?” I ask.

“The door broke itself,” Luda explains. “And I’m pretty sure there’s a big pile of rocks on the other side.” As he says this he leans forward and puts his eye to the hole where the handle had been. I move closer and lean down, peaking though when Luda steps aside.

Sure enough the other side seems to be piled upon by rocks.

“Well, poo,” I grumble and stand straight. “Ok, well, I guess this story lies that way.” I turn and aim the tip of my sword toward the next door on the opposite wall.

“Dungeons typically have secret exits near the end,” Bastian explains. “I am certain we will find one in the final chamber, or beyond.”

We cross the room together. Once Luda has cleared the door I raise my sword, ready for action, and Bastian pulls the handle.

My eyes widen at the sight within.

Six – Mundane

This post is a participation in The Weekly Six Sentence Story Challenge hosted by Denise over at GirlieOnTheEdge

This week’s word is:


  • Lacking interest or excitement
  • Of the earth, not of heavenly or magical origin

Just Another Day

I wake a moment before the alarm and rise.

I get dressed, donning my normal attire; white shirt, black slacks, a blue blazer, and a red tie.

I eat a plain bagel as I check the paper; nothing of interest has happened since yesterday, not even a missing cat or a wedding proposal.

Work is uneventful, there are no big news stories to cover, no big political events, no robberies, no grandmas winning big bingo prizes.

I spill mayonnaise on my tie during lunch, but it cleans up with a quick dab.

Not every day is exciting for Clark Kent.

Six – Rambunctious

This post is a participation in The Weekly Six Sentence Story Challenge hosted by Denise over at GirlieOnTheEdge (I’m 2 weeks late on this, but I’m pretending I’m not.)

This week’s word is:


  • Uncontrollable, exuberant, boisterous

Unidentified Flying Object

Red Alert, we are under attack, small unidentified flying object is buzzing the nest!

Object is approaching the package, I am moving to intercept.

Approaching from the east side, launching from the dresser in 3 – 2 – LAUNCH!

I have the target, it is in my mouth, will consume upon landing.


“AHHH,” the human yelps; they gently remove the cat from their face, set them on the pillow, then roll over and pull the blankets up over their head, muttering “damn rambunctious cat, go to sleep.”

The Narrator Part 08

(A Collaboration with SeeJayStarkDotCom)

Part 08

“What is the author?” Luda asks. I realize that while I have spoken to Bastian about this, to some degree, that I haven’t mentioned anything to Luda. I wonder what I can tell him… for that matter, I wonder if I should share more with Bastian.

“Well,” I mutter and with a sigh I decide to simply spill the beans. “Well, the author is a God of sorts. He is the creator of the universe and everything inside of it – as well as everything outside of it.”

“Outside of the universe?” Luda asks. “What’s outside of the universe?”

“Other universes. This world is just one of many that he’s created – that he’s written. The author is a writer and what he thinks becomes… this, it becomes the reality around us. He… he creates all, he knows all, and he sees all.”

“And you are a follower of his?” Bastian asks.

I have to pause briefly to consider this before I answer.

“Well,” I say, “no, not really. I am – well, I guess.” I have to stop again and consider this further. “No, technically not a follower, I’m a… I guess I’m an extension of him. In a way, he created me, but I’m more like his voice in the world. He creates it and I find the stories.”

“What stories?” Luda asks.

“Oh geeze,” I grumble. “I feel like I’m really digging a hole here. Uh, well, basically, the author is a part of a race of beings that live in a very boring world and they seek out stories of adventures and daring actions so that they can live vicariously through them.”

I can see the confusion in Luda’s face, and I see it mirrored in Bastian’s as well. I raise a hand to cut Luda off before he asks another question.

“I appreciate that you ave a lot of questions, but a Q and A session doesn’t make for very interesting reading for the readers.” I explain. This brings a brief moment of silence before Luda speaks again.

“What readers?” He asks and I roll my eyes.

Suddenly, an idea comes to me; it’s a silly story writing method to relay information between characters that readers are already aware of, without boring the readers with having to re-read what they already know.

I nod with determination and put it into action;

I explain everything to them.

“Oh, wow, that is a lot to take in,” Luda says.

“When you put it that way, it all makes sense though,” says Bastian.

“Yeah,” I say. “So, that’s why I’m here now, to protect you guys from being forgotten and lost in the back of his mind. You deserve a story – not to be forgotten.” I look Bastian in the eyes as I say this, letting him know that he was the one that I broke the pattern for; there is something special about him worth risking everything for… I’m sure he got that from my gaze.

“So,” Bastian begins. “How do we defeat a being that knows all and sees all, and create whatever he wants?”

“He doesn’t know all, or see all,” I assure him, “he-” I pause and throw my hands up, not sure where to start, “it’s hard to explain; he creates it all, it all exists in his head and when he thinks about it then it exists. He is the author, the creator, but I- I am the narrator, I am the one who sees it all and knows it all, I’m just – just out of touch with my normal self.”

“So, what do we do then, how can we get you back where you belong,” Luda asks.

“I -,” I begin to answer, begin to say that I’m not sure how, that I’m not sure there is a way, that without my powers and my abilities I wouldn’t even begin to know whether it was possible or not, but I hesitate and crease my brow as something crosses my mind.

“No,” I say, “actually- I think I know where to start; we need to find the scribe.”

The Narrator Part 07

(A Collaboration with SeeJayStarkDotCom)

Part 07: The Correspondence

Good morning! Who's editing right now?

I swing my sword wide against an imaginary foe, then freeze as I realize that the voice I just heard had no echo… and it didn’t match Bastian or Luda. I turn about and search the room but don’t see anyone else.

“Um… Hello?” I say.

Bastian turns his head to me and knots his brows.

Lol! Hey, it's CJ. I'm the admin here and writer of most of the content on this site. Are you new?

My heart skips a beat and the sword drops from my hand sending a loud clattering of metal against stone echoing through the small chamber. Luda’s attention has turned to me now as well and Bastian takes a few steps closer. It must seem weird with me standing here staring off into space. My eyes are wide beneath the goggles, and my breathing too loud for the small, quiet room.

“It’s the author,” I say quietly. The author; the one who abandoned the story to go watch tv, leaving Bastian to his tortured fate.

Haha, rude. I'm guessing you're a new editor. Did Icey bring you in?

“The Author?” Bastian asks. He follows my gaze through the empty room but since the author is manifesting as a voice in my head there is nothing for him to see. “Are they here now?” His hand settles upon the hilt of his sword but he doesn’t draw it. I shake my head at him.

“I can hear him,” I say quietly.

“He’s hearing voices,” I hear Luda try to whisper to Bastian. He then pulls his crossbow from his shoulder and sets about loading it.

Loving this roleplay thing you're doing. Also really digging this new app. It's supposed to allow multiple editors but I've never really used it before. I can only seem to access editors notes, so I'll have to figure this out later so we can collaborate. What's your name anyway?

Uh oh. A name? Well I can’t tell… wait, can he see everything I’m thinking? He’s the author and I’m the- no, I can’t think that right now. Just give hi a name, any name; “Oliver,” I blurt out. “I’m Oliver… Uh, Gray. Oliver Gray.”

Awesome! Welcome aboard Mr. Oliver. Would be great to meet you in person. The whole group is meeting up at the donut place off Nicholas, you should come join us.

“I… um,” how do I respond to that? “Yes, of course.” I don’t even know where this Nicholas is that I am agreeing to visit. My hands tremble at the thought of being caught like this, images of punishments run through my head for being here and doing what I’m doing. I’m pretty sure I’m violating some writing code somewhere.

Lol, no, don't worry about it. You're here to edit so edit. You won't get in trouble for that. I keep backups on a few hard-drives anyway. I'll text Icey and ave him send you the address. Seriously, love this roleplay thing. You should join our D&D group every other Saturday. You'd fit right in. Alright, gtg, see ya there! 

“Yeah,” I chuckle nervously. “See you there!”

Silence follows for several long seconds. I can see Bastian bursting to ask me questions, and Luda seems ready to shoot me.

“Are you still there?” I ask. I wait moment for a reply and when I don’t get one I crumble, my knees falling out from under me. Bastian is quick and catches me under my arms and sets me gently upon the ground.

“It was the author?” He asks. “The god you spoke of? He was speaking to you?”

I nod at him.

“What did he say? You seem very shaken up, did he threaten you? Are you in any danger?” He asks.

I turn to look him in the eyes; his face is contorted with concern for me.

“He… uh,” I mutter. “He invited me out for donuts.”


This post is a participation in The Weekly Six Sentence Story Challenge hosted by Denise over at GirlieOnTheEdge

This week’s word is:


  • the action of being saved from sin, error, or evil
  • the action of re/gaining possession of something in exchange for payment

The Call

(Heads up; this one’s a little darker than what I usually write. No graphic imagery or anything, it’s just not a happy story.)

I stare at my adopted dad’s number as it appears on my phone’s screen just above the answer and ignore buttons; a number that has transferred from phone to phone over the past decade but not a number that has ever shown up, or been summoned.

My finger hovers over the ignore button for several seconds, then floats to the side and finally drops upon the answer button; I take a deep breath before putting the phone to my ear and speaking, barely above a whisper, “Hello?”

“Oliver,” a female voice asks- of course it wouldn’t be him, I can’t imagine he would choose to break more than a decade of silence between us; “I’m Tracy, we’ve never met but I’m married to your father; he’s never told me why you two don’t talk but this is important and I think you deserve to know; your aunt, Jill, passed away a few nights ago.”

The news hits me like an electric fence, a sudden jolt in my heart that feels like I’ve been kicked square in the chest, my breath quavers and I pull the phone away to keep her from hearing; Jill, my mother’s sister, the only person who chose to keep in touch with me after… after 1996… the only connection I still had to my family, who sent me letters with updates on my sister – aunt Jill, the only one who didn’t see me as a monster, is gone.

I can hear Tracy talking quietly through the speaker and take a moment to compose myself before lifting the phone back to my ear, catching her mid-sentence; “-other and sister will be there, I think your brother too, I know there’s something between you all but I’m sure they would understand if you showed up, it’s special circumstances.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly, then clear my throat to keep my voice from cracking, to keep the welling tears from vocalizing, “but no, I won’t be attending; they’re suffering enough right now without me coming around… some people just don’t deserve redemption,” I pull the phone away and end the call before I break down entirely.

In Space No One Can Hear You Bleh

(A Ridiculous Story Based on a Ridiculous Concept. Hope you enjoy.)

The launch is successful. The ship breaks the atmosphere.

“We are now in a stable orb-” something thumps against the ship outside.

“What out of the world was that?”

The captain looks through the small portal and sees a corpse floating just outside. It is pale as snow with jet black hair. It seems to be wearing a black cloak with red inner lining and a ruby red brooch.

“There’s a corpse outside,” he says. Just as he speaks the eyes of the corpse open, revealing blood red eyes. The eyes lock on the captain and the mouth opens, mouthing the word “bleh” with blood red lips around large sharp fangs.

“Vampires!” The captain yells.

“I knew it!” The pilot says. “I knew they were out here!”

“There can’t be vampires! Our telescopes would have seen them!” The engineer says.

“No, you fool!” The pilot says. “Our cameras, our telescopes, even our film, all use silver! Silver is too pure t be tarnished by the reflection of these foul creatures!”

The vampire moves away from the window revealing a dozen others behind him, frog paddling through space toward their ship. Each of them has the same black hair, the same pale skin, and the same black cloak with red inner lining.

The captain rushes to the phones and lifts the receiver.

“Houston, we have a problem,” the Captain says. There is no response.

“Houston? Houston! HOUSTOOONNNNNNNN!” The captain yells.

“Dear god!” The Engineer yells. “They’ve cut the phone lines! We’re all doomed!!”

“No, we are not!” The pilot yells. “You need not fear, for I am-” the pilot rips away his tear-away astronaut uniform revealing a messy white button up shirt with the top three buttons undone, under a worn leather jacket, with faded trousers and rugged boots. He strikes a heroic pose.

“For you are-” the captain lets his words trail off into a question as he raises his row, confused.

“Oh, hold on.” The pilot steps toward the lockers and removes his sack. He fishes a battered fedora from it and returns his spot. He places the hat on his head and strikes a heroic pose.

Silence follows.

“Who are you? Where is Sandberg?” Asks the captain.

“I am… Narniana Jones.” The not-pilot says. He strikes pose.

There is silence.

“Who?” Asks the engineer.

“I’m Nar-” Mr. Jones shifts and stares at the two but he sees they are not joking. He un-poses. “Narniana Jones, the world famous archaeologist? I was on the cover of Thyme magazine? There was an article about me in Lyfe.”

“Not ringing any bells,” the captain says.

“Well, I’m not going to lie,” Mr. Jones says, “that really stings. Hold on, I have a few article clippings.”

As Narni digs through his bag a loud bang draws the crew’s attention.

“That’s the airlock. Their trying to get inside” The Engineer yells.

“How long will that take?” Narniana asks.

“Judging by the sound of their pounding I can calculate; with the thickness of the wood… carry the pi… I can give you a rough estimate of seven minutes thirty two seconds, give or take a second.”

“Good, that gives us time,” Says Mr. Jones. He pulls a small folder from his bag and passes it to the captain. He sidles up behind him and points to the first page.

“This was post in the Warshington Post about my adventure across the Sahara in a race against the Nazis to recov-“

The captain throws the folder to the side, sending papers flying everywhere.

“Gasp!” Narniana gasps.

“We don’t have time for this!” The captain yells.

“We had seven minutes!” Mr. Jones yells in return. “Plenty of time to read at least one article!”

“They’re going to break inside and kill us all!” The engineer screams.

“Put your suits on!” The captain orders.

Narniana just has his helmet sealed when the airlock gives and the first vampire swims into the ship. 

“Not today, blooder fucker,” Narniana says. He pulls out his Colt 45 and stuffs it into the vampires face. The vampire’s head explodes when the trigger is pulled.

“There are more!” The captain yells, pointing to three more vampires. The three lodge themselves in the doorway trying to squeeze through at the same time. 

“Sucks to be you,” Narniana says as he blasts another vampire.

“Fangs for the memories,” he says and pulls the trigger again.

“Have a bloody good day,” he says and dispatches the last one.

The captain, the engineer, and Narniana Jones put their combined weight against the door and force is closed, severing the groping limbs of several Vampires trying to reach through.

“Quick,” Narniana says, ” pilot us into the atmosphere, they will all burn up on re-entry!”

“Genius!” The captain exclaims.

The captain rushes to the pilots seat and turns the wheel down. The ship falls into the atmosphere and all of space is filled with the screams of the vampires as they burn.

They land in the ocean, safe and sound.

“Haha,” says Narniana Jones. “Another grand adventure.”

Little did he know, the captain was a vampire the whole time.

The Narrator Part 06

(A Collaboration with SeeJayStarkDotCom)

Part 06

As promised, Luda disables a number of traps and Bastian slays a number of goblins and rodents of unusual size as we progress into the dungeon.

Goblins, by the way, are baby shit green, covered in boils, and have breath that smells like fish boiled in garlic paste.

Come to think of it, these dungeons have had a lot of fish racks and ropes of garlic hanging around, maybe their breath smells like that because it’s the main staple of their diet?

“The goblins in this area are fishermen, they eat a lot of fish and garlic, that’s why this place smells so terrible,” Bastian expounds as if I hadn’t just explained that to you.

“You don’t say,” I mutter.

“He did say,” Luda says. “He just said it, about a second before you said that.”

I stare at Luda who, in tuns, stares at me. He shifts his expression from confused to more confused as I stare at him before he tilts his head in Bastian’s general direction and speaks from the corner of his mouth without taking his eyes off of me.

“Did I say something wrong?” Luda asks.

“No, little Luda,” Bastian says. “I believe our friend was deploying sarcasm, passively informing me that the information I was relaying was easily grasps by observing our surroundings.”

“Oh,” Luda says. He blinks and turns away from to observe his surroundings. “Well, I didn’t notice.” He says with a degree of pride, as though he were happy to give Bastian the satisfaction of being right. “Should we collect some of the fish for rations?”

Bastian chuckles and shakes his head.

“There is no need.” Bastian says. “This dungeon is ranked a D in the guild’s books. It is a two level beginners dungeon. This should only take a few hours, no need for rations.”

“So,” I say as something crosses my mind. “You’re a very successful adventurer, aren’t you?”

“My portrait hangs over the hearth of the Guild, yes.” Bastian says with a nod of his head.

“So-” I continue, “why is one of the most successful and well known adventurers exploring an Academy training dungeon?”

“Well, you see,” Bastian stops walking so he can turn and give me his full attention. “The nearby town of Namelater was set upon by goblins who stole the Mayor’s Macguffin before returning to this dungeon. I have been hired to retrieve it.”

Silence follows Bastian’s explanation as I stare, slack jawed, and try to process.

“The town of… Name later?” I ask.

“Namelater, yes.”

“They stole a… a… Macguffin?”

“Yes, the mayors Macguffin. It is very important to him.”

Another few seconds pass in silence as I stare at him, dumbfounded. Why would Bastian know the term macguffin? No character should ever know that term, it’s much too meta.


Of course! Of course he’s seeking a macguffin; the author half-assed another WIP, starting a new story without filling in any real details. He wanted Bastian in a dungeon and so Bastian is in a dungeon; the ‘why’ is irrelevant. So now, Bastian, Luda, and I are delving into what is more than likely an incomplete dungeon.


Maybe it’s not as incomplete as I think it is?

Maybe the author actually has a plot revolving around luring readers into a false sense of security knowing that the hero is much too overqualified to be too at any risk, only to reveal some big unexpected evil at the end luring him into a trap.

Then again, this is still the first chapter of the story, this could simply be the establishing ‘Ordinary World’ stage of the Hero’s Journey. To Bastian, a professional dungeon crawler, a simple dungeon like this would be ordinary, I suppose.

Perhaps… I am overthinking? The author started this and abandoned it with no thought; I am sure of that.

I… am sure of that?

“I am sure of that!” I say out loud.

“Of what?” Bastian asks.

“Of… our… survival?”

“Did you question our survival? Luda asks.

“Never!” I exclaim. “I am sure of it!”

Luda shakes his head and turns to inspect the next door leading into the sixth chamber. Bastian smiles, either amused or excited by my certainty, and he steps forward, holding the blade of a short sword and offering me the hilt.

“A goblin long sword,” he says. I wrap my fingers around the leather hilt and take it from him, holding it before my face.

“Wow,” I smile, but quickly realize something isn’t right with the sword. “Wait- long-sword? This is only a foot and a half long!”

“Goblins are only three feet tall,” Bastian says. “Their idea of long is a bit different than those of a taller stature.”

“Huh,” I mutter. “Fair enough.” I step to the side, away from Bastian and begin to swing the ‘sword’ around, testing the wait. I can feel Bastian’s aura of disappointment n my technique, but he says nothing.

SSS – Scribe

This post is a participation in The Weekly Six Sentence Story Challenge hosted by Denise over at GirlieOnTheEdge

This week’s word is:


  • A person who copies documents
  • To write
  • A writer, especially a journalist

The Scribe

“How can we defeat a being that knows all and sees all,” Bastian asked.

“He doesn’t know all, or see all,” I assure him, “he-” I pause and throw my hands up, not sure where to start, “it’s hard to explain; he creates it all, it all exists in his head and when he thinks about it then it exists. He is the author, the creator, but I- I am the narrator, I am the one who sees it all and knows it all, I’m just – just out of touch with my normal self.”

“So, what do we do then, how can we get you back where you belong,” Luda asks.

“I -,” I begin to answer, begin to say that I’m not sure how, that I’m not sure there is a way, that without my powers and my abilities I wouldn’t even begin to know whether it was possible or not, but I hesitate and crease my brow as something crosses my mind.

“No,” I say, “actually- I think I know where to start; we need to find the scribe.”

(this six is a preview of things to come in my weekly(ish) story, The Narrator)