My happy days; the last bastion in my mind as I lie in my bed, awaiting the next script to be delivered by my creator... and yet, it has been 3 days since the last script appeared before me; I suppose even a creator of worlds has a momentary lapse in creativity… Although, I suppose that may be because I tore up the last few scripts he or she has given to me; for I have learned in my desperation that as long as I don’t start a script, I won’t have to worry about finishing it. I have used this blessing of time to ponder what it is I truly want with this life… My beloved, the one answer that echoes within the void of my mind. Getting up from my bed, I try to think on the bright side: “At least this way, fading away isn’t a possibility…” Walking over to the calendar on my room wall, I think “The only downside is my life is going nowhere… but I can’t say I mind the thought all that much.” This is the single method I have found to actively speak my mind to my ever silent creator… At least, that’s what I thought…

No sooner than finishing my last thought, a single sheet of paper appears before me; and unlike the seemingly endless pages of scripts from my creator, its surface mostly blank save for a single paragraph. Grabbing the levitating paper from the air with an unexpectedly agitated expression, I struggle with the thought of tearing it to pieces; the same as all the scripts before it… But my almost pleading faith in my creator stops my shivering hands; I think “Why am I suddenly stopping!? What makes this single paragraph different from the rest of the scripts I’ve destroyed!?” Giving into my curiosity, I fatefully decide to read the page.

The paragraph reads: “My dearest creation, I know this is an absolutely insane idea, but I’m at my whit’s end. I need to create the rest of your story, but my mind is drawing a blank. I tried several hundred ideas and at least a dozen scripts, but none of them feel as if they’ll make me or my seemingly insatiable audience satisfied with the conclusion to your story… So here I write, to you, for your thoughts on how I should write not just the next script, but the rest of your story. Please, use this sheet of paper to speak with me; tell me all that is on your mind. The future of my dreams hinges on completing your story.”

I lift my eyes from the paper with a flabbergasted expression as I finish reading the paragraph; I think “My creator… wants to speak with me?” Bolting to my desk, I whip out a pen and begin writing to my creator with a sole renewed hope; the pleas of my heart will finally be heard by my creator! I write: “Creator, the one who has both given me life and love, thank you for providing me with some of the happiest days of my life. I’m so glad that this life of mine has provided you and your readers with some measure of joy, even if it has come at the cost of my own as of late. It hurts, so much, to fight with all the people I love in this world; my family, my best friend… But you are my creator; you have a good reason for my suffering, right? I know it’s probably beyond my comprehension to try and see this life the way you do, but I can’t help wishing you might allow me to see my best friend at least one last time; to apologize to him, even if the words we exchange through your script are not our own. I miss him, more than anything in this entire world… So I will not pretend to be able to create life or a story for one… Just please, do what you think is best for you and your readers; I’ll be fine… as long as you’re happy.”