It was getting dark, words had started dancing before my eyes, yet I did not want to stop. That would have not only disturbed my thought process but also made me lose the thread. On top of that, I was nearing the end of story, few paragraphs and story would be complete. I decided to type the remaining part without looking at the screen.
A few seconds later…
I heard a voice, “You can’t kill me.”
The feminine voice comes from somewhere near the screen on which I can see the story I am writing. It is about to be complete with the heroine falling off the cliff. I wonder who is this person trying to disturb my concentration. I look around while being seated on the chair. However, there is no one within the range of my eyes.
I ask her, “Who are you? Why are trying to interfere in my work? Can’t you see that I am trying to concentrate?”
Before I could say anything, something appears on my screen. “I can see you are trying to kill me at the end of your story. I won’t allow you to kill me.”
Before I can react, the female figure walks out of screen and stands on the side of screen. slightly away from the computer table.
In spite of strange sense of fear, I am fascinated.
“What are you talking about and who the hell are you?”
Pat comes the reply, “I thought you are a writer and writers have good power of perception. Can’t you see that I am the heroine of your story? The way your story is unravelling, it is clear that you intend to kill me at the end of the story.”
Shock is not the word which could describe my feelings at the moment. I have never met any of the characters of my books, much less interfering in my writings. I am unable to believe that one of the characters of my book is talking to me.
Just to assure myself, I ask, “Are you real? All my characters are imaginary.”
“I have heard many of such disclaimers. You writers think that we the characters of a story or book have no feelings and you can manipulate us in any way you like. This time you have met your match. Now I will complete the story.”
All this was happening in front of my eyes. I wonder if it is a dream. As I pinch myself and feel the pain, it does not appear to be a dream. I look far and see the man walking on the road. As he comes nearer, I realise it was someone known to me. As he looks towards my window, he waves and continues walking. There is no question, I am certainly awake.
I look around and see that woman is still standing there quite oblivious of my attempts to ignore her.
I realise that there is no need to argue with an imaginary character. I try to focus on the screen to complete the story.
But nothing I type on keyboard appears on the screen. Perhaps keyboard battery is down.
As if sensing my thinking, the woman says. “Keyboard connection with computer is not lost. I am not allowing you to complete story about me. I am going to write the end of it.”
I guess it is difficult to argue or fight with a fictional character. “OK, go ahead and complete the story.” I get up from the chair and stand at a distance from the computer table.
The woman sits on the chair and starts reading the story from beginning. She makes a few corrections in the text and soon reaches the place where she had stopped me from going further.
My story was about a woman being pursued by four criminals, bent upon killing her as she had come to know of their secrets. They were afraid that she might report them to police. They had caught her at an isolated place where she had gone for a walk. She had run for her life. Unfortunately for her, she had run towards a cliff. She had stopped about two feet before the precipice. Her pursuers had seen her and were running towards her. I was about to end the story by making her fall from the cliff, but just then she herself had taken over the story. The story probably no longer belonged to me. It was now her story.
I knew that the sheer fall was just behind me and my pursuers were closing in fast. I had to take a split-second decision. Then a scheme came to my mind. I turned around facing cliff.
Soon I was surrounded by the four goons. They made a semi-circle around me. I could feel their eyes on my back. They must have been surprised that I was ignoring them or they believed that I was ready to die. They started closing on me. Soon I could hear heavy breathing as they must have run hard. I kept steady, totally ignoring the goons.
Their leader who must have been standing behind me glared at me (I saw him in my peripheral vision, actually he could see my back only). “So you think you could escape from us. Why don’t you try to run now?”
I ignored him and turned around. Of course, I had no intention of falling off the cliff. For a while they were taken aback by my response.
The leader rushed towards me intending to push me off the cliff. As he was within touching distance from me, I threw myself on the ground. My head was just a few inches short of the fall. But the momentum carried the man off the precipice.
Before his companions could come out of shock of losing their leader, I ran for life. By the time they must have recovered, I had run too far.
She asked me, “How do you like the story so far?”
I thought for a while. “I am sure they would come after you later as your face is well known to them.”
She said, “This is not the end, now you listen to the remaining part of the story.”
She clarified, “I forgot to tell you. I thought you already know it as you started writing the story. These four persons, of whom one was already dead, had not told about me to their bosses, fearing reprisals. So I had to neutralise them before they informed about me to their superiors.”
I ran to the police station, which was in an obscure building, with a small name plate. It was very hot and all the staff was inside. I covered the name plate of the station and stood there waiting for the goons.
The station was in an isolated area. Thinking of this as some residential building, they started shooting. I had already dived for the ground when I saw all three of them putting their fingers on triggers.
When policemen heard the shots, they came out with their guns. When they saw the goons who were still not aware whether they had killed me, they shot them dead.
I quietly disappeared from the scene.
She looked at me and asked me, “How was my story?”
I replied, “You have good imagination.”
React
