Background Character

It was another cliche morning out of a book, the despondent gray clouds hung over the city like a cloak, like straight out of a true-crime novel, which was odd since it wasn’t my genre. I rushed down the street, my heavy woolen coat feeling five times heavier than usual as it absorbed the moisture that invaded the air, hand clasped around my plain brown briefcase, standard issue.

My first stop was the coffee shop, and I gave my order to the man who was there, every day, every time. As I stood in the line I was knocked off balance when someone slung their arms around my shoulder. I stiffened.

“What’s up Mary!” said the loud familiar voice of my friend-slash-coworker, Emmeline. I winced and pulled her firm, muscular arm off of my body with a frown. I stood back and looked at her, yep, there she was, strongly built, perfect body, all muscles and tan. I scowled.

“Emmeline you shouldn’t be talking to me,” I said, tugging my coat a little tighter, even though it was already warm inside the shop. Emmeline sighed and rolled her eyes.

“That’s right. And let me guess: here’s the part where you give me your grand speech on how we just can’t be seen together, even though we are truly meant to be.” she said with a wink, rushing forward and grabbing my coffee for me. 

In the world, everything was matched to a book. At birth, you were assigned a role and a genre of the type of life you were meant to live. I was just a supporting character, never meant for anything great or unordinary in life, and my genre was of course, romance.

Emmeline on the other hand was an absolute complete protagonist, overachiever, strong, attractive, sociable and so on. She was destined to do things in life, to live her story, not be caught talking to a background character. It just wasn’t how things worked.

“Oh please,” I said with a scoff, snatching my coffee from her hand. “We are most certainly not “meant to be,”” I say, making air quotes with my free hand. Emmeline leaned in with a smirk.

“Oh really then? Tell me. Tell me you don’t like me and that I’m an unattractive idiot,” she said with a smug smile. I grunted and simply sipped my drink.

Supporting characters are supposed to, well, provide “support” for the protagonist, and hence genetically modified to never be able to tell a lie. Not even a small, itsy bitsy white lie, or, god forbid, they lie and ruin the story.

I walked to work besides Emmeline, and she cheerfully stood alongside me, chattering away as we headed to the large skyscraper where the both of us worked. Perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, Emmeline was one of the head publishers, in charge of which stories we would publish and pursue. I was just the secretary’s assistant.

We got to the tall, gleaming building of Book Corp, windows somehow managing to gleam despite the depressing weather. We slipped inside just as it had started to rain.

Emmeline threw me a wink as she click-clacked off, dressed immaculately in her black suit. Gotta always look good when you’re a protagonist. Who knows when your next true love will come walking along. I thought, absentmindedly scratching at my neck. The coat was starting to itch. 

“Mary, there you are,” said the voice of the secretary, snapping me out of my fugue. I jolted and my hand shook a little, splashing some hot coffee onto the floor. I winced and looked up. Jacob pursed his lips, then shook his head.

“Alright, nevermind that, someone will clean it up,” a background character, “come along now. I need the quarterly report polished up- I looked in my inbox this morning and didn’t see it.” I trailed after him, pulling papers out of the case and froze.

Aww snap. “I- I uh-” just say it. You sent it but he must’ve not gotten it. A technical issue. Wifi troubles. “I forgot to do it,” was what I said instead. Jacob sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Mmmmm alright. Get it done by today, corporate wants us to up publication numbers,” he says, until we finally arrive at his office. He waved me off as he headed inside, and I ducked my head, heading to my work station.

Not surprisingly, Jacob was a deuteragonist, the secondary character. Meant to help the protagonist, but not every accomplish something as great or mighty as the main character might. Like a secretary.

With a sigh I sat in my work chair, running my fingers alongside the dull gray edge of my desk. From my case I pulled out a slim black USB drive, plugging it into my computer.

I spun in my chair once or twice waiting for the files to upload, until I was rewarded by a clear ding. Clearing my throat I tapped at the keys of my computer, and the day tolled on as I filed reports and sorted through story submissions.

Soon, the work day had ended, and I glanced at the clock. 5 o’clock. Time to head out. With a tired yawn, I stretched, and gave a satisfied smile when I powered my computer down.

As I headed down to the ground floor, just as I was about to step outside and head my way home, I was stopped by a voice.

“MARY!” I turned, and saw my boss, Jacob. I swallowed.

“Mr. Jacobs, is there something I can do for you?” I asked confused. Jacob approached me with a frown.

“You really don’t remember?” he snapped at me, and I internally panicked.

“No sir,” I answered, truthfully, as always. Jacob sighed. 

“The quarterly report,” he said. “I didn’t receive it.”

Oh. No. I had screwed up before, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t forgive me to easily this time. “I uhh…” I started.

“You what? Spit it out!” he said, foot tapping impatient.

“I forgot to do it,” I said, voice tapering off at the end. Jacob closed his eyes and gave another deep sigh. A few moments passed.

“Mary, I am truly sorry but we can’t keep doing this,” he said. Wait. What? “You’ve messed up like this more than a few times, it’s become a real issue. I know we took a chance hiring… someone like you,” a background character, “but I simply cannot tolerate this type of work ethic. You can pick up your things tomorrow.” 

Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

I swallowed back the lump in my throat as I tried to hold back my tears, “Yes sir,” I said meekly. Without another word, I turned my back and practically ran out of the building.

I marched myself down the street in a fog, and before I knew it there were warm, salty tears leaking out of my eyes in the middle of the street. I kept my head tucked, ignoring the strange looks people sent me.

I knew the position I had was unusually high, especially for someone of a lower caste like me. But I didn’t think it had gotten this bad. I remembered the first day I was hired, I had been ecstatic and called my brother to tell him about it. He had warned me, warned me they wouldn’t take kindly to me having a job that maybe a tritagonist, or a more prominent background character. But I hadn’t listened, foolishly chasing my dreams.

I chastised myself for being so stupid, and planned on going home and crying into some ice cream, when I suddenly stopped outside my apartment door.

The door was opened. Everything in my body froze, as I slowly dug into my jacket pocket for my pepper spray.

With my spare hand, I pushed the door open with a creak. The inside of my apartment was pitch dark, like a yawning chasm, ready to swallow me whole. The familiar surfaces which I passed everyday seemed to jump out of the shadows, like monsters in the night.

I looked behind me, back out at the street, but it seemed like there was not a soul in sight. I sighed and put a foot inside the door, my heart seeming to leap out of my chest.

Creak. Creak. Creak. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Was the apartment always this loud? I reached my hand out to flip the light switch, pepper spray in hand, and frowned when it wouldn’t turn on. “Damn,” I muttered to myself, voice barely a whisper.

There was a spare generator in the back, buried under a few boxes I brought in when I first moved into the city, a year or two ago. I took out my phone and flicked on the flashlight, granting me a brief reprieve from the darkness.

I advanced through my home, my haven which had been intruded upon, until I got to the room where I kept all my spare things. Digging through and below a few boxes I gave a relieved breath when I reached the generator.

I took the generator in my hands, temporarily tucking away my phone and spray. As I walked down the darkened hallway, I was startled by a noise behind me.

“Who’s there!” I demanded, generator falling out my hands with a thunk. I walked forward a few steps, but saw nothing in the darkness. “Get it together Mary,” I mutter to myself, turn around, and there stood the shadowy figure of a man. “Oh fuck!” I scream, before he lunges for me.

“I am so, so sorry,” he says to me, before his hand clamps over my mouth with a sweet smelling substance, and the world fades.

--

When I come to, my eyes are covered with a soft black rag, and my hands are bound. I struggle in my seat for a few moments, but can’t seem to break the abrasive plastic bonds holding my hands together. At least I’m ungagged. 

“Hello?” I shout, “Is anybody there?” but there is no response, at least not for a few moments, until I can hear footsteps behind me.

The footsteps get louder, until they’ve reached the back of my head, and two nimble hands quickly untie my bandana. The fabric slips off my face like my water and I blink a few times, “Where- where the hell am I?” I spit, mouth feeling dry and parched. 

My eyes blink a few times, attempting to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. I can make out we are at the bottom of some sort of storage facility, the walls and floor are barren and dirty, and the ceiling is covered with thick, rusted pipes that thrum and creak with life. I frown.

“Wait- have I- have I just been kidnapped? Hello? This isn’t my genre, I think you have the wrong person,” I say, desperately trying to find a way out of the situation. There are boxes stacked upon boxes, on steel shelves that extend to the furthest corners of the room. Suddenly, a man drops from the ceiling, startling me.

“Hello Mary,” he says in an overly chipper voice. I jump.

“You!” I said, anger lacing my voice. The man that had kidnapped me, but now, in better lighting, he appeared barely a boy. The child was young and skinny, and clothed head to toe in a black stealth suit. He shrugged. “What am I doing here?” I demanded.

The boy sighed. “Mary Mary Mary. I’m going to be frank here. We need your help,” he said with a grin. My brows rose.

“My help?? What do you need my help for?” There was no way in hell I would be helping this… criminals with anything. The boy’s eyes hardened.

“Why of course my dear,” he said, pulling out a sharp looking knife, “we are going to kill the president.”

--

So, when he, who has currently refused to give me his name, said “kill the president,” didn’t actually mean the president.

“Our world didn’t use to be like this,” he began. “Many, many years ago, there were no genres, or classifications of any sort. Everyone lived equally, and it wasn’t until very recently the government has decided to implement the classing system,”

The boy turned out to be classified as a main spy-fiction character, oh my, who would've guessed.

“The classifications? They don’t actually mean anything. After the third world way, everything was in such a disarray, Book Corp. swooped in and worked with the government, and assigned everyone ranks, and changed all of the writings we have today.”

I was shook. Everything I had ever known had been a lie. The classes were simply created to keep us in line, so we would fool ourselves into thinking everything was orientated around what we were given at birth.

“And the classing system they had worked. For a while. But there are abnormalities, you can’t just label someone with something at birth and expect them to stick with it. For example, haven’t you noticed how you’re supposed to be a background character, but managed to rise through the ranks surprisingly fast? Our organization monitors people like you.”

Mildly creepy, that I was being watched. But it had made some sense. 

“So what do you need me for? And why me?” I had asked.

“You work for Book Corp. We studied out pool and you seemed like the best match to carry out this mission, with your personality and the way you’ve behaved,” he said, “and all I need… is for you to help get access into the Book Corp building. You’re only a part of the marketing and publishing faction, but there is a major meeting going on at the topmost floor. Just get me into the building and we’ll take care of the rest,” he assured me.

“So… this whole kidnapping thing…” I said slowly, the boy shrugged again.

“More for show than anything. Gotta please the readers! And I do have a love for dramatics. We could’ve just stolen your key pass, but I wanted you to know the truth Mary. Because you don’t fit in, everyone has a chance at being their own protagonist, of writing their own story” he said, looking me into the eyes. I swallowed, then nodded.

“There’s just… a small problem. I was fired today,” I said. 

“What?”

“Yeah… I was fired today,” I said, slower. The boy frowned.

“Well… that’s rather unfortunate. Guess I’ll just have to kill you,” he said, reaching back and twirling his knife. I shrieked and twisted my body, but he just laughed. “RELAX. I’m just joking. Don’t worry, I know about Book Corp, they won’t disable your card until you get your stuff.”

I scowled. “Jokes are supposed to be funny,” I muttered under my breath, as the kid took his knife and uncut me from the chair.

Turns out we were just under my apartment building the whole, in a sealed off room. Rather disappointing, but I grabbed my key card and handed it to him, but he just looked at me.

“They have facial recognition at all the doors. You’re going to have to come with me,” he explained. I sighed, and hopped in his car.

The car was sleek and black, covered in smooth, new smelling black leather. I strapped myself down into the seat as we zoomed off towards my (previous) workplace. The boy left the car running on the side of the street, as we headed toward the front entrance.

My palms were sweaty, and I shakily swiped my card, letting out a breath I didn’t know I had even been holding, and we stepped inside. The boy kept his head ducked, all the way until we reached the elevator. He looked at me.

“I’ll take things from here. You might uh… wanna leave. Things can get messy. The car is yours to use!” he said, before jumping on the elevator, and pressing the button. I watched in dismay as the doors shut closed in front of my face.

Considering his words for a bit, I looked at the entrance, then at the elevator door. I could stay. Witness some action in my life for once. Get a taste of what main characters got. But…

I was just a background character. It wasn’t my place.

I slumped, and walked back out, out of the gleaming building, the tower built off of lies.

I stopped in front of the boys car, thinking about walking home, but as I stared at my reflection in the glossy black window, I pondered his words.

“Everyone has a chance at being their own protagonist, of writing their own story”

I took a breath. This was it. This was my choice, and my story. I got in the car, the keys were still in the ignition. I stepped on the gas pedal, making my way to the local florist.

By the time I arrived, the sun had set, and the sky was a mix of a blood orange and blue, creamy clouds drifting to and fro. The original grayness had disappeared, simply leaving behind a gorgeous sunset. How romantic. I thought to myself.

The door was softly illuminated by lamps on each side, and I took two steps at a time until I stood in front of the doorway. I took a sharp inhale, and pressed the doorbell.

The door opened, and Emmeline’s face poked out. “Mary? What are you doing here?” she asked, confused. I held out the large bouquet of white and yellow flowers in front of me.

“Hey Emmeline. Would you like to go on a date with me?”