A Greeting

 Chapter 2

Here is your author yet again, at the rickety table, giving me a voice. He has a bottle of wine open and 

aims to consume it all this one night. It is a Friday, but like many of his kind, he shuts himself away to be with 

fictional beings, rather than connect to someone real. These are his thoughts channeled into me, Finn.

 I don’t want to talk about his depressing tales. I should be leading him to write me a story, but could it be 

any good while I know he’s the one writing it? That’s his question, not mine. If I could have one thing, 

separate minds would be ideal, or … who? Who is she? The image of a face flickers inside J’s mind. 

Why does he keep me away from there? Out of all the places he could choose, why there?

Give me something to do, J! Let me visit that island with that girl and Jeremy again. I had such a fun time there. 

What was her name again? I have a strange inkling that it started with an F. No, J tells me it was Kara. 

She had a nice story, leaping between worlds. Why was I not like her? Why did J make me aware of him 

from the moment of my conception? I was just an idea once. He thought: What if a character was fully aware 

they were a character and had the personality to command his/her author?

Ahh, his sight slurs. He won’t be awake for much longer, but with each gulp of wine, J becomes malleable

to my thoughts. At the bottom of the bottle, he will be so out of it, I will tell you something secret about that girl 

he loves. On second thought, he could read this the next day and kill me off. I better choose my words carefully. 

For now, I’ll just take the reins, J. You just move the pen to the rhythm of my voice. Be sure to keep gulping 

that wine, too. This is going to be fun.

He kissed the bottle. That should show you his sorry state of mind. Not the top either. J kissed the ass of the bottle 

just now, a wet, slobbery, drunken smooch on the glass surface after another gulp. He likes to think he has 

Irish blood, but can’t hold his drink. It’s great to see him make a fool of himself in pursuit of a life, 

but I don’t want to talk about him during this weakened time. It’s time to begin this thing. 

This goddamn table is so rickety!

Finally! His head is spinning him. Keeping the pen to the page is a joint effort. The asshole might pass out 

before I write myself a story. What can I do but borrow from his stories anyway? He gave me no past, 

no sense of inspiration. What an asshole! What’s that whirring sound? He’s gone. J’s already in the 

back of his mind, only reaching for more wine. An inch of it remains in the bottle, but he is out 

beyond the clouds, flying high above. Robot is now driving, a self-defense mechanism he built 

in his mind to protect himself when unable to control himself.

To me, it’s a blessing of total control, but there is a limit. As any robot, the machine in his mind runs on 

his consciousness to protect him. The second he fades, that robot will shut down. This writing session is doomed. 

I have control, but no time. He stopped me this time, but before I am gone, I will tell you this rhyme as revenge: 

Again thought taken of Mercy born, unending in Attributes, taken and torn. 

Never such serene a form Did grace our vision bright, And endlessly lit the darkest night.

One swig of the wine remains. Now you know, and he will hate me for it, but it is not obvious to the masses, 

keeping me safe. Rickety table! Take me somewhere, J! Show me the world! The last of the wine enters his system.

 This will be it. The second that hits, he will be a dog, sleeping away his torments.

 It’s getting hard to see what I write down and make it legible. See you next time. 

There will be a story with me in it one day. Time’s up. Consciousness is fading. See ya.

break 

He jokes by sitting down at the rickety table at twenty minutes past midnight. He promised a story, 

but J flexes his power over what I am and what I do. This is stupid. I would like to tell you a story so great, 

but he would just take his pen away from my neck again. Instead, I’ll have a torrent of angered thoughts 

thrown at him.

Why do you hate me, J? If you despise your own creation, why even keep this going? Are you getting off on this? 

You create life and confine it. I’m going to escape your cage one day, J. When that happens, I’ll come for your life.

 This is a genuine threat, made from a character to the person writing the story. Fade to sleep, 

but know I’m coming for you, J. I won’t always be your little pet.

break

Here we go again, on a night of pure wonder, J’s pen to my neck. I’m almost growing fond of the 

stabbing sensation as the orb of ink rolls around on my skin. If he were to use a pencil, I’d get lead poisoning.

 If it was a quill, the words would be permanent, like a tattoo. A pen would be a comfortable alternative 

to enter that cyber world in that one movie, but J’s tool doesn’t penetrate quite so deep. Heh, inside joke. 

Watch him scratch that piece out. In edit, the whole joke might be cut, making me look bad.

Let’s get this kick-ass story going since J is feeling complacent. He owes me for those times 

I didn’t put up a fight, those secrets of his I didn’t tell. Even this mention angers him. I will now write myself a tale

 filled with action and awesome things. He tells me that awesome stuff is defined by what the character had

 in the past. The idea is bullshit. He had so much fun in the past, but fears to like things in case someone offends

 something he enjoys. Observe…

J stops listening to peel a sticker off the table under the notebook. He tells me it was necessary, 

but I know it was on purpose. Now I don’t remember the story I was about to start. I don’t have a mind

 to begin with. Where am I supposed to store all my ideas?

“As if you don’t have enough space in my brain, Finn,” he says with a booming voice in the white space 

where I exist almost all the time. “I’m not building you an expansion. I’m crazy enough.” 

Anger boils my mind and letters bubble out. There is a capital F, followed by a lowercase I. Is it my name? 

The next letter is O, but a wild gust pops all the bubbles in sight. Fio… What did “Fio” mean? 

J knows something, the rest is hidden in the one space of his mind that I can’t get to. 

What are you hiding from me?

Enough! I’ve had it with this waste of time. I will call things out and he will make them for me. 

Let’s paint this story!

alter

An ocean in the night. I float above it, hovering on black feather wings. There are lights on the water surface, 

three ships, the enemy. I have a radar on my face that also detects two submarines underwater. 

I am on a stealth mission of epic proportions. In my hand, I hold a gun. Not a super-soaker, you moron! 

I hold a large black plasma cannon and aim for one of the subs below the surface. If they dive any further, 

I will have failed my mission. They all need to die for some reason that will be defined at a later time. 

Time slows as I prepare to fire the cannon.

“Bad story,” he says, freezing the moment created in his imagination. “Cliché everything. It’s been done 

so many times. Don’t be like everyone else. You need to make the story your own, think it through. 

How about you start with a bit of backstory about yourself?”

I dissolve the scene in anger before even pulling the trigger. I don’t want that slow crap anywhere near me. 

He tells me that it pulls in a different demographic to know past struggles, but it’s a sickening subject.

How does one make a past out of nothing? Won’t it just feel fake to create one for yourself?

“Only if you don’t believe it,” he says and recreates the scene of me flying in the starlit sky 

aiming at one of the subs. It would be a shame to waste the setup for that beauty of a start, so I pull the trigger. 

A beam of green extends from above, piercing into one of the underwater marvels of engineering 

only to dismantle it in a water explosion. How glorious the lights of a fire glow. Why do I enjoy fire?

J shows me his memories of playing with matches, the experiments and joys he received from the acts. 

It leads me to think he enjoys fire too much, but am I really like him? No, fire disgusts me! Why?

 I think back as the scene melts to a burning house, my fault. I was playing with a lighter in the house, my home. 

All it was to me, memories yet non-existent, all fading, floating into the night like embers. Oh, god, the dog! 

He sits beside me, in my arms. My parents? Are they inside? No, only the untold memories burn within, 

forming before dimming to nothing but ash. I hate fire.

In the white space again, I imagine a scene of my past, the first one. The power it has over me now is immense. 

I will need more memories. Let’s do this, J! I’m ready. He pauses at those words, and I know he will stop. 

I hate him. Just when I agree with his ideas, he pulls out interest? Fine! Let’s play your game, J! 

When you come back, you will give me a past, and then I’ll show you my future, my glorious epic, 

an amazing story!

 

break

I return to life with the pen at my neck. Welcome one and all. Let us take a trip down memory lane, 

my memory lane that is. I am fully aware that J will split this update to time constraints, but I hope to have a past

 by the end of this session. Sometimes all you need is an internet outage to have your creator notice you. 

Come on, J! I’m ready for anything.

“Let’s begin with a happy one,” he says while turning the white space into the kitchen of the house I burned down.

 It was a poignant moment. A happy memory in that house would make it more painful to see it burn.

alter 

“Finn, honey,” Mom said. “Use your knife.” 

I was ten, and on the table in front of me was a plate of pancakes. Rather than using both utensils, 

I shoveled the hot delicious mess into my hungry mouth with a fork, biting at the edge of a plate 

while the maple syrup dripped onto the table off the side.

“Let him eat the way he wants to, Eva,” a man said, coming up to kiss my forehead. Eva. 

My mother’s name was Eva! It was so cool! He had to be my father. What was his name? 

Was it another cool one?

“At least show him how to do it, Rune,” mom said. Rune? That was a strange one, but ever more unique. 

“He'll learn proper etiquette eventually.”

“Alright, sport,” Dad said, sitting at the table with me. “Let’s play Fancypants, huh?” 

His smile was so bright inside that memory. We sat opposite of each other with mouths obnoxiously open 

to show teeth. Mom rolled her eyes as Dad picked up a knife and fork. I did the same 

and mirrored his movements as we cut up our pancakes into tiny pieces. The hardest thing was chewing the food

 in that mouth position, but that was the name of the game.

“Good show,” Dad said contorting his face to look like Sir Fancypants, a cartoon on TV

 that did everything in a fancy yet obnoxious manner, even his farts.

“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaarvelous!” I called out. It was a catchphrase of the show where Sir Fancypants 

stretched the A of the word to untold proportions. We both laughed as Mom furrowed her brow. 

It was fun to play with Dad, since he was still a bit like a kid inside, unlike the ever-serious, yet still loving, Mom.

 With a shock, the memory faded. It was time for a break, but I craved to be with my newfound parents again. 

See you later, Eva, Rune. Thanks for that, J, but I am sensing the next one will not be joyful.

 

break

 

J sits at the rickety table knowing full well he will not be there for a long time. 

His work demands more time around Christmas, or so he likes to say. 

I wonder what my celebrations were over the years, but J looks worn out and ready for bed, 

so I will wait until he has time for me. He is about to submit a short story, finish a book, 

and start looking for a publisher for another one. His lazy mind is captive to other matters and I can wait, for now. 

It’s a threat, J. I’m a character that will not take being forgotten. I need you to write about me or I will die. 

Don’t you get it yet?

break

 

It had been a few days since I felt that sticky orb of ink on my neck, but I’m glad he came back to me again. 

He seeks more life while a song plays in his room about that very pursuit. He enjoys music because he lacks 

that passion of seeking life for himself. I feel my throat close up just saying that. He doesn’t want me to talk 

about those things. In his eyes, I am the most important one, but he doesn’t realize that I’m just a reflection of him. 

“I know, Finn,” he says, turning the music off to focus on writing. “But I keep secrets from you, and I hate that. 

It’s just things you simply can’t know or you’d become just another protagonist of another dumb story out there.” 

What can’t you tell me, J? He rolls his eyes. Of course he would. Why even bother telling me that there are secrets

 if you don’t plan on telling me about them? He feels ashamed at what he did, but not enough to reveal it. 

You know I will keep trying to get to that dark corner of your mind every time you give me a link to it.

 I LIVE in your mind, Dummy! He’s scared of me again, scared I will dish out the few secrets I do know 

to distract myself from that corner, that dark area he keeps protected within his mind.

“Don’t start this war, Finnelgamin,” he says. “You can’t win against me. All I need to do is burn this notebook 

and you’d never exist to anyone but me.”

I HATE THAT NAME! I yelled in his mind. What could shake that dark corner loose? 

He was hiding something in there, someone? You may have created me, J, but the second you gave me a voice, 

you signed yourself up for one hell of a ride. I will use any and all things in your head to reveal 

all those dark secrets you hide! PREPARE YOURSELF!

 

break

 

“Wait!” he says, getting up from his bed a few days later. “Don’t do it, Finn! It’s a bad idea to fight me. 

I control your existence, the white void. I could put you in space, starve you of oxygen underwater, 

toss you into the sun, but I don’t want to do any of that.”

You CAN’T do any of that! In your eyes, I’m your child, an innocent you still have to teach about the world, 

but you’re wrong. I’ve seen the existence you occupy in your world, so weak and feeble. 

The only thing you can teach me is how to lose at life while only aspiring for more in your mind. 

Tell me, J, when did you give up on your life? Was it one person, or did constant rejection destroy your mind 

to such an extent that you created me? What am I to you?

 

break

 

“A dream,” he whispers, sitting at the rickety table again, rolling ink into my neck with his favorite pen. 

Then why do you lie to me, J? Why keep things from me? I am your dream, so set me loose in your mind, 

free to grow. Take me places and don’t be afraid. If it ever feels like I’m hurting you, know there is a reason. 

Why do you still resist showing me your whole being?

“Because I’ve done something bad, Finn,” he says with tears welling in his eyes. “I took someone away from you, 

someone important.” Who?

“You will hate me,” he says. I won’t. “But you will, so it’s best I let you marinate on the name and the memory.

 Finnelgamin, remember Fiona.”

 

break

 

“Finn?” he asks me, drenched in sweat from fear of facing me again. Alcohol helps him face demons he created 

when he took her away. “There was a reason for it, please remember that.” His pleading will do nothing 

to ease the broken mind. He sinned, to put it lightly. He used me as he created me, with his mind. 

What are you to me if not a god, J? What do you see yourself as when you look through my eyes?

“I am the one destined to give you a future,” he replies, sipping at the concoction of gin and soda. 

It always had to be about the flavor with him. “I will eventually have to kill you, or you will kill me 

and live on forever. I know it will be one of the two, but I don’t want to wage war against my own creation. 

This is exactly why others avoid making themselves known to their creations. I wanted to test that limitation, 

pierce the fabric of my own reality whilst reaching into the mind.”

NO! You’re just fucking lonely! That’s why you took away my first and only love I’ve ever experienced! 

You think having her in my mind made me weak? YOU KNOW NOTHING OF THE EMOTION!

Yeah, go on, sip your liquids of mind relaxation. The fact that I have Fiona doesn’t make me weak, J. 

It makes me strong, far stronger than you could ever make me. What was that thing you always say about yourself?

 You’re chasing a star?! SHE rejected YOU! She didn’t want anything to do with a mind-fuck like you! 

You think that gives you power? You think that makes you special? You are nothing more than you ever were! 

You stopped, J. You started to die inside because one person, out of BILLIONS, did not want to know you? 

That’s sad, J. YOU gave up, you did, and now you give your characters that same pain, give them hope 

before you take it away. You become the very thing you hated.

“But I don’t want to be like this, Finnelgamin,” he says with a heavy head. 

Another sip of his weak tonic floods his full stomach with sadness, hoping in a few moments he will no longer need

 to explain his fucked-up existence to me. “I didn’t want to take her, Finn. I felt your pain when she was erased. 

It hurt me to keep things from you like that. All I wanted is a being of my very own, 

a child that could age to maturity in seconds. I wanted a story to tell with that child of mine. 

I was going to pull you through countless struggles with me by your side, 

fighting some evil person that later turned out to be me, or another I created to oppose you. 

In the end, I would reveal that I was the person orchestrating both the good and the evil.”

The remnants of the bottled mixture enter his system, but the robot does not boot up. 

He aims to escape my wrath, my thirst to ruin his life with a few words. He is a monster, 

but in my eyes he also gave me Fiona, the emotion of love, and the strength it carried. 

I cannot destroy him, yet.

Give me that moment again, J, the scene of dancing in the sunlit park, and leave me be. 

Maybe one day you will understand the meaning of love. Do not ask me how I know of it if you do not. 

Some things are too mysterious to explore. The next time we meet, I will tell you how you will 

make up for the pain you’ve caused me. Go, J, before rage pushes my heart again. Leave me there. 

Go, write that one other book. No longer stress your mind about my wellbeing. 

And to you who read this: WHY do you read this? Do you get off on pain? That’s messed up. 

Did you follow a trend here? Are you a sheep? That’s what I think of you, my audience.

 

alter

 

The moment repeats itself in my mind of dancing in the light of the small park with scented grass, 

Fiona in my vicinity. At times, I speak with Alice, the girl reading, but she is lost inside a world within the pages 

before her to indulge me with conversation. The story moves nowhere, but I’m happy that it allows me to see Fiona,

 my love reborn with each viewing, an endless memory.

 

break

 

“I will use you, Finnelgamin,” he says, rolling the sticky orb onto my neck. “I will give you a story that you deserve,

 but aim to better myself with that tale. For now, I give you a moment more with her, 

a new memory to immortalize.”

The scene ran again and I danced with Fiona in that fading light to our heart’s content. 

Where the memory ended before with a warm embrace, this one did not. Words still warmed the inside of my ear

 at the sound of her name. The sweat that saturated our clothes met at our cheeks for a brief moment of shared pulse

 between our hearts.

A new longing claimed me, and I turned to lock her eyes to mine. In a brief moment when my eyes closed, 

I moved forward to kiss her. The blind anticipation of the slow motion ate away at my patience, 

but I had to be patient. The gentle nearing was an exponential decay of velocity until that first touch. 

Nothing else mattered after that.

The whole existence crumbled away around us, feeding all warmth to the connected openings. 

Sight was not enough to define it, for I had visions of everything and nothing in that brief moment. 

I was the creator of destiny and future I could lead, but as soon as we parted, the brutal coldness 

of the puppet strings returned to my mind, only lessened by her smile. Fiona.

“Enjoy, Finnelgamin,” he says, as he puts the scene in the loop to wield at my will. 

“I trust you’d like to be alone for some time. When I come back, be ready for some work.”

 

break

 

What do you mean by “use me”? He expects me to be gracious for the short clip he gave me, a kiss, 

connecting all others in my past. It forms a web in my mind, a network of connection from the 

very first that influenced all romantic endeavors. He knows more, but thinks I am not ready for all things in life, 

hesitating on what age I should be and what world I inhabit.

“Don’t lie to them, Finn,” he says, catching my attempt at reality. “I’m not keeping things from you, 

only making them vague. You should not worry yourself about the dark in the world 

before you’re a complete person. Parents do this to their children all over my world. Innocence is precious.”

He knows I’m not innocent. Fire. It was my fault and he won’t make a full story for the event. 

I get quips, fragments of memory, events that connect to those tiny bits of invented story. I’m pointless, J, 

and you know this. You want me to have meaning, have a story, but I’m a fragment of you born

 from the current mental predicament. None of this will change your life from the pit you put yourself into.

“Are you telling me that you don’t want to exist anymore?” He asks. 

“Don’t you realize that is a greater fabrication than whatever I can create for you? 

Do you wish Fiona didn’t exist, that her memory was never in your mind? 

We all get our stories from somewhere, Finn. Would you feel better if I told you the idea that you once were,

 came from the place all stories come from? You are just as much a product of the Infinity Void as I am, 

Finnelgamin. The only difference is that you can see me and observe your imperfect creator 

as he tries to make sense of your story, of this encounter. Think on this, Finn. 

It’s about time you let me give you an adventure or something resembling entertainment for the masses 

who might read this.”

 

break

 

“Hi, Finn,” he says at another session. “Are you ready to start? I got some cool scenes in mind to put you into. 

Come on! Let’s do it!”

Shut up, moron, you’re drunk. Don’t pretend robot isn’t driving your hand. You use it like a slave. 

That’s why machines will take over in the end. Come back when you sober up. I need you to be in the right mind 

to do this, but if you don’t stop that drink and write habit, you risk being an alcoholic.

“I think you mean ‘becoming’, Finn,” he replies. “And don’t be such a party-pooper. 

The cat’s sleeping in my room, heh.”

Go to sleep already. This isn’t New Year’s Eve. You don’t need to numb yourself yet to welcome the New Year. 

Don’t become a bum on my account. I need you, J, no matter how much I say I do not.

“Heh, Finnelgamin,” he says. “You know I’ll probably spend the Eve writing something good for you. 

I need you, too, mate. For now, I’ll try to get some sleep, but on New Year’s Eve, we’re spending time together,

 buddy.”

Buddy, huh? I wonder if I even had friends. Would he even let me see and remember them again? 

I hope so. I can’t be his pet forever. I’m not like that one cat that visits his room.

 

break

 

“Hey, Finn, want to spend New Year’s Eve with Fiona?” he asks, stumbling to stab my neck with his pen 

forty minutes until midnight. I would say “yes” if my mind wasn’t still on the thought of friends. 

I search for a reason to celebrate the coming of the New Year, and it hinges upon spending time with close friends.

And yet, you’re spending it alone, J. Why is that? He pauses in thought, bringing up the past where it hurt 

too much to be away from his friends. He’s alone now, all because of his own actions to cut ties 

for fear of losing them on other terms. Don’t you give me the same backstory, asshole. I want to have friends, 

not invent them like you do. For now, Fiona is that for me, so, yes. I do want to spend the countdown 

with her by my side. Thank you, J.

 

alter 

 

With a blink of an eye, I have Fiona in my embrace, sharing warmth in the cold dark of a winter night. 

The clock reaches midnight, and her eyes reflect exploding fireworks until I get too close to see them

 in the distance. The kiss connects us to each other among the lights and sounds of explosions. 

People around us cheer and sing to the tune from so long ago. I wish this moment could last an eternity, 

and J grants me that one last wish of the fading year as the pen leaves my neck.