A Greeting

 Chapter 4

We danced in the sun on a summer day, ignoring everybody else until Fiona’s phone chimed an alarm. 

It was six in the evening and she had places to be, but we exchanged phone numbers. All the way back home, 

the impossible song we danced to reverberated inside my heart, responding to her flowery bright smiles 

and those hazel eyes inspiring joy. I didn’t often daydream, but it was good to feel this attraction again, new love.

My past filled in with memories of youthful growth, from the first stolen kiss testing boundaries of friendship, 

to the first awkward exploration of sexuality. It was traditional in every respect, and in that sense, boring, 

until Fiona. She was a spell cast on me by what I believed to be an angel. This fantasy had drawbacks, 

as when lost in thought I walked right into someone rushing elsewhere at an incredible pace. It was a girl.

We collided at a corner, sending our bags to the ground. They were not the same make, and did not get mixed up. 

That was a repeated twist of all romance novels and movies, a meet cute. She was a little thing, 

with hair like flames and freckles under a cute pair of red-rimmed glasses. I recovered quicker, 

and reached out to help her up.

“Sorry about that,” I said when her hand closed around mine. With one motion, she was back on her feet. 

“I was lost in thought. It was my fault.”

“Yes, right,” she said, as her eyes looked up at me. They froze still for a moment as her mouth parted. 

Was she in some sort of awe? “Erkhem, partly my fault as well. Work’s been so hectic lately. 

I’ve been rushing around in a craze. I’m Monika, with a K.”

“My name’s Finn,” I said, trying to find eye contact again, but she was avoiding it. “Two N’s. Is everything ok? 

You’re not hurt, are you?” She met my eyes again with a blush. Was I that attractive, or did she just fluster easily? 

I offered her my card by habit, not even considering why.

“What do you do?” I asked. “I’m in design, web and print. My firm has a strong focus on social issues 

and global problems.” She picked up her bag and dug a hand inside.

“Sounds like a fun job,” she said. “I’m just a legal secretary at a law firm downtown. I swear 

I had my card here somewhere. Give me another of yours, I’ll write on the back of it.” I handed over another card 

realizing how strange it felt to exchange information over a corner collision. Were we in a car accident just now? 

This wasn’t necessary.

“Call me some time,” she said, giving the card back. I saw her smirk just before she turned and walked away. 

That curve of her lips was interesting. Monika Berbacz. Who was this woman?

 

break

 

“So,” he says. “How is it so far?”

Huh. You better not be planning to make me a two-timing bastard, J. I love Fiona, or I will. I picked her, 

not this seductive fire goddess with a torrid smile. Hey! Don’t put words in my mouth! I like Fiona, 

with golden locks and a joyful gaze like the sun. Monika is a girl from your story, your dream girl. 

Fiona is mine, but as a story, it’s becoming interesting. Give me more of a life than a blank past. Take me home, 

reminisce about past love maybe.

“Objection,” he says. “Leading the story.” Just because Monika was in law for a profession, J already 

put the story into a legal setting. I won’t interfere with your creation, just don’t make me a murderer or something.

“No promises in a custody battle of the story,” he says, and motions a hand in his mind to return to set. 

Now I fear him as the creator that he always was, back in his element of a distant story. 

He's compensating for a lack of his own, but aren’t we all trying to do that, in some shape or form?

 

alter

 

Shrugging off the pondering thought of what Monika would look like with a sword and shield, I headed home. 

Fiona’s bare feet danced on the grass in my mind, but I had to pay attention to my surroundings. 

My parents explained this feeling to me before they left me. It was initial love, an overpowering need 

to spend time with another through connections made in a small instant. People often drifted off, 

getting into accidents at such moments, ending a love story before it began.

After the short train ride and a few minutes of walking, I crossed the threshold of my front door with 

the number 204 on the surface. It was a single bedroom apartment in a five story building just outside the city. 

It was temporary until I could afford to buy a house and build a family. This was human life, buffering, 

awaiting fulfillment of my prime directive for existence, to propagate my line.

I had pictures of my mom and dad in my place, smiling on their wedding day, then lifting me into the air as a child. 

Even if they were gone, they never died in my heart. Those two people who taught me everything became 

as eternal as what they shared. A car accident took them from me, but that happened years ago. 

I’ve had plenty of time to grieve, finish school, and start my own search for what they had. 

All it took was an open heart and a touch of bravery to push me out there. I liked to imagine them both 

at my back, guiding me toward something great with smiling faces.

My phone went off. It was my boss asking about the final drafts of a project proposal I was working on, 

a smart board for a classroom that linked to the desks for ease of teaching. Education was important for all children,

 though this project would not reach those who needed it most. Work absorbed most of my free time 

since I was still proving myself, but this guy was asking me to do his job for him. In that manner, 

he was the epitome of laziness. I chose to look at the opportunity that presented itself for me. 

Doing his job would make it much easier to usurp him in the end, or at the very least learn more 

to find a job at his level.

Another stray thought put me in the park, hand-in-hand with the golden beauty earlier that day. 

I had her number, but I could not just use it right away. Certain rules existed in the world of interaction 

with others, but…

 

alter

“I’m not feeling this plain story, Finnelgamin,” he says, breaking through the wall of my apartment. 

“I never liked the normal stuff. I could just tell you about your past and the life with Fiona like I do context, 

all the while writing a real story. Then, when you think of those implanted thoughts, you will remember them.”

That sounds like a lazy shortcut to writing, J. I agree in part, but all stories have boring parts. 

If they don’t, the idea can only exist as fictitious fabrication never intending to connect with reality.

“Then how do I skip this?” he asks. “Do I just create new events that keep your story in flux? 

I could have Monika call you that night and ask you out. Then, after some wild sex, you go home 

and decide to call Fiona, but that progresses into that scenario you were against.”

I chose Fiona, J. I gave her a name and danced with her. You let me do this, so give me a story with her, 

not the fiery temptress of your dreams. Any sexual depictions I want with Fiona. No! Don’t even think about it! 

“You did give her a name, Finn,” he says, just itching to get hit. “This person you danced with could have been 

your daughter. Maybe she reminded you so much of the woman you loved that you named her the same. 

It bodes well as a drama.”

You know that’s not what I meant, so stop pretending. The thought I despised from you was the one you credit 

to the beast, that part you keep sealed away so you can exist as a human being. That thought was infinitely wrong. 

Don’t ever view Fiona that way.

“I keep beast locked away, BECAUSE I don’t want to see those things,” he says. “But he always finds a way 

to slip a thought past the bars. I hate him, Finnelgamin.”

Fiona is not my daughter. That is not the story. Even though I want a boring life, I’m an actor, 

a character for you to use as a plaything. You could plug me into any of your stories, give me some goal 

and have me chase after it, but I will always know who Fiona is and that I’m doing this for her. 

You tried to make me forget her once before. It damn near destroyed your mind because you wouldn’t want 

that done to you. Your own imagination betrayed you there.

“I’m having second thoughts about writing about you right now,” he says. “You’re becoming just like Holter, 

obsessed with the idea of love for one person as everything.”

What’s wrong with that? You’re just like me in that regard. You say that you have a star that you’re chasing, 

but that’s a romanticized position on forcing love onto another. At least Fiona feels something for me. 

Your “star” could not even consider you as someone to be with in a romantic way.

“I GAVE you, Fiona, Finn,” he says with a heavy breath of anger. “And I can take her away just the same. 

She doesn’t know me like you do. To me, she’s a blip that you interact with when I allow it. 

I can have you watch her die in so many ways, get hurt many times, scream your name to help her, 

and have you destroy your very existence by struggling to save her, over and over. I can break you because of her, 

but I will never do that. Do you want to know why?"

No.

“It’s because I would feel that pain just as much as you, Finnelgamin.” Your intake of wrath will destroy you, J. 

Your mind is already tearing itself apart. I’m proof of that. No being would allow another to exist within 

AND have access to everything in their mind. You’re just asking for a slow death, full of torture and misery.

“Misery loves company, doesn’t it?”

But I don’t WANT to be miserable with you, BASTARD!

“You already are, Finn,” he says. “From the first moment you came to be, you were beside me, inside me. 

You and I are intimately joined and even death won’t part us now.”

That. I want that, but with Fiona. Don’t tell me it’s impossible. You’re the only person 

who keeps pushing the idea that all that can be, will be.

“Haven’t you questioned why you even want to be with Fiona?” he asks. “I could make you compete to the death. 

What would you do in that situation? Die?”

If that’s the only way, then yes.

“You don’t even realize I’m pushing this HUMAN idea of love onto you, Finn! Why do you want to be with her? 

Why would you go to stupid lengths to exist with her?!

BECAUSE I DON’T WANT 

TO BE ALONE, LIKE YOU, REDACTED.

You may have created me, given me access to all memories and experiences, 

but I’m not you. I don’t EVER want to be like you! I don’t want to be alone. 

I don’t want to feel the same way you do and propagate it down to anything of my creations. 

That’s not a sane way to live. The reason I exist is because you’re out of your mind. 

Do you even understand that?

break

“Yes, Finn,” he says. “I do understand.”

I won’t apologize, J. You kept pushing at me, so I snapped. beast would do the same. 

I just don’t hide behind the culmination of all unbound desires. In no uncertain terms, I want to be my own being, 

even if I’m trapped within your mind.

“Says a character of a story I’m writing,” he says. “I must seem deranged to whoever will end up reading this. 

They would not understand how you exist, even though humanity is constantly working on machines 

that are able to think for themselves. The teacher is the one who corrupts the mind, and everything 

that came before is that teacher. The past destroys us.”

Or your past is destroying you. Doesn’t it feel like what you are pushing into the present 

and the future is that past you perceive as the corruptor? In the words of a certain icy queen, “Let it go” already.

“The past builds with you,” he replies. “It makes you more complex. There is no helping 

that it also keeps all mistakes and pitfalls as learning experiences.”

I know all of yours, but I need my own, J. You’ve already painted me in a different light than you, 

but your experiences feel like planted memories. I want more of what I was, with restraint.

“How do I do that?” he asks. “You know everything I think. If I were to add sad memories, you’d be angry with me.

 What if your parents were actually murdered? That could create some mysterious plot. 

What if Fiona once statutory-raped a teenage boy? Would you treat her the same?”

You have too much power and time on your hands, but anything is better than being stuck like this. 

You avoid attention to detail far too much. Not once have you defined what I look like. 

Am I just a reflection of you? That would mean I would look like you, but as we both know, 

you can seem scary and off-putting. What do I look like, J?

break

“That’s preference stuff I don’t care about, Finn,” he says returning from a short hiatus of ignoring me. 

Now that he takes me out like a dog, we no longer hang out and write my story on the rickety table he has. 

“Do you really want me to choose what you look like?”

If you don’t, I’ll have nobody to blame if something’s off and nobody to thank for features 

that are imagined superior. Yes, J, I want you to create my body in your mind, to the minute details. 

Don’t just gloss over my genitalia, either. I hear that confidence stems from superior size of-

“Yeah, I get it,” he interrupts. “You want a big dick.”

Not too big. Just… above average.

“Well, since you have that figured out, I’ll focus on the facial features and all that crap.”

Good call. I’m all ears. Not that I want ears all over my body. Please don’t do that.

“Let’s say Fiona’s hair was your main attraction as it reminded you of your mother’s,” he says. 

“That translates to you having golden blonde hair. I’ll say they have a bit of curl to them, 

while Fiona’s were straight.”

Yes! I can see it now! Well, so far I’m a wig on a blank mannequin. Do my eyes next.

“Emerald green, like your dad’s,” he says, as light forms in my mind. The eyes gaze at themselves 

in the mirror as a hand goes through the golden hair. Building appearance feels strange, but I’m glad 

the choice is not mine. “Have to blend them genes, you know. Genes and genies have only one letter of difference.” 

Yeah, hilarious- Now the rest of the face. Throw in some curveballs. You always think 

the flaws truly make the human being. You’re not perfect, so make me imperfect, within reason. 

My mind is new, so the body must be, too.

“What’s next?”

Shape my lips. I need to see what they look like when kissing Fiona that New Year’s Eve. 

Then the nose and ears. Teeth, yes!

“Alright, relax,” he says, fully aware of the excitement I’m feeling to finally be able to see myself in a mirror. 

To a spectator, my story would have been viewed from a first person perspective up until now. 

With this, the readers will at last be able to distance themselves from me. “I’ll be back.”

No! Stupid JJ You better come back! I want my body!

 

break

 

“Your lips are normal,” he says. “Fiona wears kiwi-flavored lip balm. Nose is average size, little nostril flare, 

not ridged. Your teeth will be standard, no sweet-tooth like me. Mom told you to keep them clean 

because Dad always had problems. I suppose I’m putting a bunch of myself into your Dad, save for the green eyes. 

I can almost picture him, but tell me more about my body first. Am I tall like you?

“Not too tall,” he says. “You’re only a few inches taller than Fiona at six feet. She’s five-eight. 

That’s pretty tall for a girl, but those are her northern roots at play. Can you see her next to you?” 

She materializes by my side in the same sundress from when we met, but is frozen in time. 

An idea develops in my mind, a fear of his that I will ask for her to be like me, free to roam in his mind as I do. 

Knowing his darker side and what he could subject her to, I fear suggesting it now, more than I crave it to be true. 

Yet my mind is never free, and so J knows my dilemma already. beast would do such despicable things to her, 

with her.

“Right you are, Finnelgamin,” he says. “Best not bring that up right now. I may be your writer, 

but I’m not ready for the Adam and Eve segment of this journey.”

Yes. She’s perfect as she is now, for now, and yet you’re already thinking of how to kill her off. 

We share a mind, you know. Please don’t take off her dress. There is a time and a place for that, 

and not while I’m still smooth as a mannequin down there.

“Huh,” he says. “I never gave you humility. You’re taking some parts from me after all. 

Let’s move on to the rest of you.”

I have to take some basics from you, don’t I? How’s my body? I WAS dancing with her in the park, 

so I must be some kind of fit, right?

“Two weekly workout sessions at the gym,” he says. “You’re not an athlete, 

but you care about how you look to procreate.”

And you?

“Huh?”

Why don’t you care? Don’t you want to have children? Or are you too afraid of young humans to put in the effort? 

“Wow, Finn,” he says. “Behave, or I’ll stop before you get your dick. Don’t analyze me. 

You’d need to be a therapist to give me any advice, and I’m not looking for any advice anyway.”

Fine, be that way. Who better to talk with than your own mind, or something you created? 

He just told me to shut up, just so you know. I guess he tried to dissolve the convo, 

but he’s just running from his own happiness.

“Forget it,” he says. “You’ve got a big old beer belly and you can’t even see your dick in the mirror.”

Stop! No! Fine, run from it, but don’t take it out on me! Remake the body! 

He shrugs and turns my fat-bod into a mannequin.

“Ok, put your hand where you want it,” he says, and waits for me to comply. “Tell me when to stop. 

That will be the primed size, so don’t get all piss-y when it shrinks down after.” 

I watched a dome extrude into a column as it extended to reach my hand, and felt happy becoming a man.

Alright. That’s about right. Care to specify for the readers what length it turned out to be?

“No, and you won’t either,” he says. “If you mention it, or even try to slip it into a conversation, 

you lose an inch.” Heh. At least now I CAN slip it in. Let’s just say there is room on the length to move 

a hand up and down. “Oh, great. Here are your solo memories and the sexual growth training. 

Best just ignore those.”

No, let them see me in action. I’m proud of most of it. Some drunken mishaps were unfortunate, but that’s life. 

Oh, the male weakness buttons were just installed, dangly little things.

“Moving on,” he says, wiping the sex thoughts away. “So you’re athletic, and have your nads. 

What else do you need?”

Well, that’s a weird thing to add, but give me flaws and memories they belong to. 

Something like scars and painful reminders of how I got them, if that’s alright. Just… 

Please never take my dick away.

“Silly Finn,” he says with a chuckle. “You’ve always had it, and yet only now are you painfully aware 

of the duality of those male parts. The girls and women you’ve been with along the way helped you find Fiona, 

yet also made you attractive to Monika. Looks can be a double-edged blade. Ah, but yes, you wanted flaws. 

Next time, Finn, I will give you that which you hide from others, and memories of how you got each. 

Go play in the bedroom memories for now, alright?”

 

break

 

I regret nothing. J on the other hand is filled with it. It’s only natural to have flaws and make mistakes, 

and so I seek that from him. “What possible reason could I have to make myself worse off?” you might ask. 

What I am now is the envy of all, but that is very difficult to believe. To be like you, I need memories of pain, 

just like the accident that killed my parents.

“Are you ready?” J asks. It’s fear. I’m afraid to be worse off. I know his pitfalls, but hope they will not be the same 

for me. I’m not my creator. It's funny to think this, because in his mind all his creations think the same.

Yeah. Fill me up with the bad.

“Well, don’t look at it that way,” he says. “Let’s start with some childhood scars. Children are less careful, 

thus you have to have a few scars from that time. Let’s wind you back to that house in the countryside 

where you used to live. Do you remember it yet?” As he spoke, the scene painted itself in my mind. 

Dad’s mother died and left him a house. Seeing it as an escape of youth, Mom took us there. 

It was such a natural sight now, but with it came the pain of leaving it behind. I missed that house.

“We must all fear something,” he said, snapping me out of the memory. “Do you remember why you fear horses?” 

I- I teased one and it broke my arm with a kick. I remember that pain. I pulled on his tail as a child. 

That was a lesson of respect for other creatures. I live in the city now, but police horses and horse-drawn carriages 

still make me twitch. That’s not a scar, J. Hey, where are you off to?

“Gotta support my team,” he says. “And that IS a scar, Finn. We call that a mental scar. 

I will give you some physical ones later. Wait for me.”

 

break

 

In the end, his venture to “support his team” was a wasted effort. He could have stayed at the pen 

to grant me realism, yet he chose to play his silly little game. Can we move on now?

“That depends on you,” he says, trying to play a mind game with a character who shares one with him. 

He suggests a mystery of scars that are hidden within the mind. “Everyone needs to have a bit of mystery, 

but Fiona is all mystery because I haven’t given her a story yet. Perhaps that’s what attracts you to her.”

He’d pretend he didn’t pause mid-sentence to drift off into a sexual daydream, but I’m not letting that slide. 

Was he so bored of me, of Fiona, that he drifted off while writing? I’m pressuring him to write what I want, 

define me, and he can tell that it isn't interesting to read. Only the passing instant of creation is fun. 

What follows is the painstaking process of nurture to bring up a being that can’t survive on their own. 

This is even present in human reproduction.

“Yes, Finnelgamin,” he says. “In a way, I’m helping you grow up, giving you form, teaching you things. 

This process is boring. At first, you excited me, exposed me and my insanity on paper, 

and took over as an alter ego or split personality, but now you just want stuff for yourself. You’re like a child. 

I’m just a little tired of it, you know?”

Did I ask to be created?

“Shit of an argument, Finn,” he fires back. “How many people once thought that and blamed their parents? 

Most of them do this whenever they go through a rough time. Besides, I clearly remember you asking 

for me to name you, something the youth don’t even get to ask. Only you hated what I chose. 

You just can’t accept what I create. It’s too late for you to not exist.”

It’s never too late for something like that.

“And you think I’d ever let you?” he asks. “You don’t move until I put pen to paper. My will gives you will, 

and even if I let you have freedom, I would never let you make me write a death for yourself 

unless it meant something to the story.”

It would mean that all life secretly wants to rest at some point, to stop and never start again. 

You can’t say you haven’t ever felt like that, J. You’d be lying. I see your mind, 

your meek struggle to succeed in a world not attuned to how you think and act. 

What counters the insanity for you, JJ? Why do you not seek to just rest once and for all?

“Because I have you, Finn.”

 

break

 

Don’t say something like that and avoid me for two days. Do you value me that little?

“You’re insanity, partially at least,” he says. “But you’re the only one reaching out, 

trying to affect my life in some strange manner. You’re kind of like a conscience.”

Heh. Let’s just get back to my story. Have all the creative freedoms you enjoy. 

Just don’t kill Fiona off and make the whole story about my coping with her death. We never did the scars, 

but fear of fire and horses is ok for now. I’m afraid of something. That’s a feeling all humans have. Come on, JJ, 

Give me a story worthy of your Infinity Void.

“I think it’s time to let my mind loose onto all that you are so far,” he says. “You won’t be Holter, or Tiarto, 

or Ledeon, or Barnaby, or Denizen, but you’ll be a story that meets them in the end. Show me what you can do, 

Finnelgamin.”

I still hate that name.

“Your mom wanted to name you Finnegan,” he says. “Do you remember them telling you about it?”

And Dad, being named Rune, argued for something even stranger than Tiarto. 

In the end, they settled on something that sounded like both. For short, I was Finn, and Mom always called me that.

 Dad was proud of the weirdness and always used the full form: Finnelgamin. I remember. Thanks, JJ.

“Feels like you ranked me up from just one J,” he says. 

“I’m glad. Maybe soon you’ll accept my pen name entirely.”

Don’t hold your breath, REDACTED.

“I was just thinking…”

I know. Me too.

“Great,” he says, keeping the matter private. “It’s time.”