A rudely loud series of beeps dragged Ian out of his sleep. It was early. Birds-not-even-up-yet early. But today was his first day as junior PR manager in a successful software company, so he had to make sure he arrived on time, and looked good as well. The taming of his dark brown hair alone would take him half an hour. Maybe he should get a haircut. New look for a new job. His former employee hadn’t really made a fuss out of his long hair, but Ian guessed he would make a better impact with a short coupe. It would help give him the ‘young go-getter look’ he considered crucial for his new job.
The mattress creaked as he turned around. Just a minute longer. Then he’d get up and start the day.
His second alarm went off, but still he refused to open his eyes. He reached out his hand again to put a stop to the annoying beeps, but failed to find the right button. In an increasingly rapid tempo he just pressed every button he could find. The alarm was still going. “ Oh for
’s sake…” With an annoyed grunt he kicked back the sheets and turned on the light. He realized he had managed to press every right button except the one he needed. A long yawn kept him on his bed a moment longer. He shook his head. “Come on buddy. Time’s wasting.”
The light in his bathroom apparently was 200% brighter before 6 o’clock. He didn’t know that was even possible. But he stumbled towards the shower anyway, shielding his eyes from the six suns bathing the white ceramic tiles in their harsh light. The water was cold enough to act as a freezing wake-up call, but it was more pleasant than, for example, a slap in the face or getting your testicles poked with a cattle-prod. When he came out, the mirror hanging from the opposite wall confronted him with the relatively small package he had laid on the edge of the washbasin. Good thing he had laid it there, or he surely would have forgot to take the neatly wrapped present with him to work. In it was an expensive-looking set of pens. Nothing like sucking up to the boss for under five dollars.
He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He stretched to look at his alarm clock. Half past six. Plenty of time. The bottom drawer of the old cupboard revealed countless pairs of underpants, a bundle of socks, his razor and a hairdryer. He took out the latter and reached for the socket to plug it in.
A horrifying sizzling sound filled the bathroom as 200 volts raced through Ian’s body. He fell back and his head thumped against the bathtub before he hit the ground. His muscles still convulsed, but he was long dead. The result of an exposed electrical wire on the plug and a socket without grounding.
A terrible end for a good man.
No. No good. I just can’t do it. It’s supposed to be a short story, but this is just too short.
As by a miracle, Ian once again drew breath, and opened his eyes.
“What happened?”
He tried to get up.
“God, my head hurts.”
A shock like that could kill a cat three times over, so it was pretty normal for him to have a headache.
“Wha- Who said that?”
Ian looked around.
“Huh? How do you know that- How do you know my name?”
Wait, are you talking to me?
“Yes I’m talking to you! Who are you?! Get out of my head!”
You’re not supposed to hear me, you know.
“Yeah, I’m not supposed to hear voices. No
!”
Calm down man, you just got 200 volts through your body. You barely survived. Take it easy. Look, this might be hard for you to understand, but I’ve been here long before you were.
“What? You’re not making any sense!”
Ian coughed and slowly tried to get up.
“What the
are you doing? How can you see me? Did you put cameras in my home or something?”
I’m just doing my job.
“What, your job is to say out loud what I’m doing? What are you supposed to be?”
Geez… It can’t get any more obvious you know. I’m The Narrator, ok? Are you beginning to understand the situation?
“The Narrator?”
Ian was silenced.
“Shut up! You mean to say that you’re a narrator? Like in a book?”
Yes.
“So… I’m a character in a book? My whole life is just a story written by someone else?”
Bingo.
You still there? Ian? Hello?
“Yeah, I’m still here. I’m just recovering from the shock of discovering my whole life is actually a book in some sort of parallel world.”
Not ‘book’. Short story.
“You mean to say that my life is reduced to a story about 5 pages long?!”
About 3 pages, actually. Oh don’t be so glum about it. Look at it this way: I’m The Narrator, right? I just saved you from death by electrocution. Ever stopped to think about what else I could do for you, as I’m pretty much omnipotent in this world?
“I think you’re missing the point here. My life is going to end in less than 2 pages time.”
Well, accept it. And try to realize that everything you can do now is make this story as entertaining as possible for those who read it.
“Who will be reading my story?”
A multitude of people if all goes well. Then again, it might not be that much people, since the Author is just an amateur writer.
“The Author?”
Yes, you know, the guy who wrote this.
“But you are-“
No! No. God, why do people never learn? The Narrator is not equal to the Author. Well, mostly anyway. It’s like with that book by Salman Rushdie. It was very controversial and the guy received death threats for things said about the prophet Mohammed in his book. That’s just stupid. People have to learn that there’s a damn big difference between reality and the alternate reality known as ‘fiction’. Rushdie can’t and mustn’t be compared to his narrator. It’s like comparing an ordinary man to God.
“…You done?”
Yeah, sorry. It’s just, I’m a Narrator. This kind of stuff just pisses me off.
“Ok, so you were saying about the stuff you could do for me?”
Oh, you changed your mind?
“Well, seeing as I’m not real anyway… Might as well enjoy myself.”
Well said for a figment of someone’s imagination. Just sit back and let me do my thing.
“Ok, I guess…”
Ian sat back against the wall and felt a great mystic power wash over him, and he knew that he now possessed the power of flight, invisibility, and super strength.
“Awesome. Hey, could you add mind control to that?”
Ok fine.
“Oh, and I want telekinesis as well.”
Yes. Ok. Are you going to let me do my thing now?
“Yeah, sorry. Go ahead.”
He stood up and took a few deep breaths. He could feel the raw energy flowing through his body, which had somehow become very muscular in the past five minutes. He looked in the mirror and treated his reflective counterpart to a smile. Yes, this was going to be awesome. He quickly got dressed and grabbed his car keys, only to realize that those were obsolete now that he could fly. Instead, he opened his kitchen window and jumped out from the seventh floor. It was glorious. He felt the cold air on his face as he tumbled down, but just as he was going to hit the pavement he swooped back up and soared through the morning light. The sun was coming up, veiled by a thin layer of clouds, and Ian closed his eyes. Many people in the surrounding blocks of flats were suddenly woken by a roar of sheer happiness that came from above. “This is it! This is freedom!” Ian went into a nose dive and landed in front of the bakery. “You know, I’m feeling a bit peckish. I think I’ll have a bagel.”
Mr. Rosman, the local baker, was just opening up. When suddenly he saw two bagels flying by. He slowly turned his head to follow their trajectory. Ian caught them and waved to Mr. Rosman before taking off again. “Thank you Mr. Rosman. Have a nice day!” He took a big bite and gained altitude. He wanted to see how high he could go. Luckily he knew that he wouldn’t be able to breathe in outer space. “Oh. Thanks for the heads-up, Narrator!” You’re welcome. From now on, just do what you want. I’ll make sure you don’t accidentally kill yourself, alright? “I think I know the place I want to go to next…”
Ian took a right turn and flew on his way to Hollywood, California. “There’s something I’ve got to set straight.” A few fictional hours later, he arrived at the house of a famed actor. Ian landed behind the spiked fence and wiped the bugs off his clothes. “Can’t believe how many damn bugs there are up there.” Suddenly, an avid barking grabbed his attention, and he saw 2 Rottweilers charging towards him. He merely glanced at them and telepathically moved them to the other side of the fence. The dogs couldn’t comprehend what was happening to them and just sat there looking at him, dazed by their sudden flight. “Stay.” Ian made his way to the front door and rang the bell. Keanu Reeves opened the door. “Who the hell are you? How did you get here?” Ian cracked his knuckles. “My name is Ian Altano, and this is for ruining the Matrix trilogy.” Then came the mightiest punch ever punched, talked about for generations, right on Mr. Anderson’s nose. Reeves was blown back a couple of meters. “Whoa…” Ian pulled him up and whispered in his ear. “Stop. Acting.” Then, he shook the guy’s hand and departed again. “God that felt good. And I think I did mankind a favor there.” Damn right. I think we’ll have a lot of fun, you and I…
Yes, Ian’s powers gave him blissful times of happiness. And the world he lived in had felt his presence as well. Ian ended all wars, stopped famine and even prevented an asteroid from crashing to earth. He truly was a superhero in every sense of the word. Revered in every corner of the Globe, he took residence in the Golden Palace, which was especially constructed for him. Later in his life, he also managed to find true love while using his invisibility in a women’s changing room. June was her name, and they fell in love instantly –although Ian never told her how he had actually first encountered her. They even had a son, who inherited all of his powers. Thor they named him, after the mighty thundergod who served as blacksmith in their estate.
Oh, well would you look at that. Only half a page left.
But when Ian was about 40 years old, his life took a turn for the worse. His son died in a car accident, and the endless grief destroyed his relationship with June. They filed for a divorce, and soon enough, Ian had to find a new home. The Golden Palace and everything along with it was taken away from him, because the judge thought it ‘easy for him to start a new life, as he was a superhero’. Now he spent his days in the gutter, not ridding the world of evil, but succumbing to it himself. He had lost all meaning in life, and robbed banks or liquor stores like any ordinary thug. It was then, lying face down in a ditch on the side of the road, that he started regretting the fact that he had asked the Narrator for anything at all. He looked up towards the heavens and pleaded.
“Please Narrator. Why are you doing this to me?”
Why, you ask? Because the story is nearing the 3-page limit. That’s why.
“But you can’t do this? You ruined my life!”
So what? Like I care about the fate of a fictional character. The story proved exciting, you can’t deny that. This narrative has it all: love, violence, tragedy, comedy…
“You’re a monster!”
Monster? Oh, please… By narrating your life, I taught the readers a valuable lesson about how power can corrupt people, and how it can leave your life in ruins. It’s damn brilliant! Stop complaining!
“Please… Just…”
Just what?
“Just kill me off… Right now. I won’t play your sick games anymore.”
Sick games… How dare you call my narrative that!
“That’s what it is! You have no right dictating my life. Even though I’m a fictional character, I don’t have to tolerate your cruelties. I am still a human being, and I have rights-”
No you don’t. You mean nothing. Why can’t you understand that it is the Author, and I, being his physical representation, that are the alpha and the omega of this story. You are but a pawn, and you shall do as I damn well please!
Wait a minute…
No! You pathetic speck of ink! Now look at what you did! You made us cross the 3-page limit! Now I’ve got no choice.
“Come on then. Do it.”
Ian’s defiant eyes faded, as his spirit finally left his body, off to join his imaginary ancestors.
--------- This story is rubbish. Delete it. ~ The Editor
Short story: the Narrator
Reply With Quote
