Rewritten, Rewired and Really Annoyed

I’ve been a lot of things in my life: a pirate captain, a pastry chef, an intergalactic spy, and at one point, I think I was a tree. No joke. A full-grown, oxygen-producing, bark-having tree. If you think that sounds ridiculous, believe me, that’s the least crazy thing that’s happened. My life (or should I say lives) have been out of control, and it’s all because of Him.

The Author.

I know he’s out there, somewhere. Typing away on his laptop or scribbling in some notebook. Second-guessing every decision, tweaking every line, rearranging my entire existence like I’m some jigsaw puzzle he can’t seem to finish. Honestly, I don’t think the guy knows what he wants.

Take today, for instance.

One moment, I was leaping across rooftops in a bustling city at midnight, gripping two gleaming daggers, wind whipping through my hair. I was in the middle of a high-stakes mission: assassinate the Duke of Tidehold. Easy peasy. I had everything planned down to the second. I had even stalked him for several days to be able to take him out in the most sneaky way .

Then… BAM.

Out of nowhere, after a shimmering light covering everything, I’m standing behind the counter of a pastel-colored bakery, piping frosting onto cupcakes. My daggers are gone, replaced by a frilly apron that says *“Kiss the Chef!”* in bright pink letters.

“Order up!” a cheery voice calls from behind me.

I glance down at the cupcake in my hands. It’s perfect. Vanilla frosting, a tiny maraschino cherry on top, sprinkles arranged like I actually care. Except I don’t. Because I’m supposed to be eliminating the Duke, not decorating desserts.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter, smearing the frosting across the cupcake just for spite. “He’s done it again.”

A customer walks up to the counter, flashing me a sweet smile. “Excuse me, do you have any gluten-free options?”

I narrow my eyes. “Do I look like I care about gluten? Read the menu on the wall. If there is any options, then it’s written there.” I give them the most intense glare I know how to.

The customer backs away slowly, and for a moment, I think I’ll get away with sabotaging this life. I ready the cupcakes and ready myself to throw them at the customers and everything around me. But no—before I can dive into a full-on cupcake rebellion, the world shimmers, yet again.

—-

Hmm. I guess I can live with this.

Now, I’m standing on the deck of a creaking pirate ship, the ocean roaring beneath me. I’m dressed in a billowing coat, with a cutlass in my hand, a tricorn hat balanced precariously on my head. Oh, and did I mention I have a peg leg? Seriously, a peg leg. I try to take a step and wobble like a drunk penguin. Speaking of, I actually feel like I’ve just been drinking too much rum. Again.

“Captain Blackbeard!” someone shouts. “The British fleet’s on the horizon!”

Captain Blackbeard? That’s the best name he could come up with? He’s been watching that Black Sails show again, hasn’t he.

I roll my eyes. “Why couldn’t I at least have a cool pirate name? Captain Thunderclaw? Captain Daggerstorm? No, I’m stuck with a cliché.” I accidentally said out loud.

The pirates around me look confused, but before I can finish complaining, cannons start firing. Splinters fly, and the ship rocks violently under my feet—well, foot and peg-leg. I try to draw my cutlass, ready to give my best pirate speech, but mid-sentence, I’m zapped again.

—-

Suddenly, I’m in a sleek, modern office building. I’m wearing a tailored suit, and there’s a conference table in front of me, filled with people in business attire, all of them staring at me expectantly. A large sign on the wall says “DragonCorp: Leading in Sustainable Dragon Resources.”

Dragons? Are you kidding me? This guy’s really running out of ideas.

“We need to discuss our quarterly projections,” says a woman at the head of the table. “It’s not looking good for the flame-breathing division.”

“Harr.. What?” I sputter, still processing the whiplash from pirate captain to CEO. “Flame-breathing division? What even is that?”

The woman gives me a strange look, clearly waiting for an answer.

This is when I realize I’m holding a PowerPoint clicker in my hand, and there’s a slide behind me with a chart showing an alarming drop in dragon-related profits. I desperately try to come up with a reasonable explanation, but all that comes out is, “Uh, have we tried… selling more dragons?”

The room is dead silent.

Great job, genius. That’ll definitely save the company.

Just as I’m about to flub my way through the rest of the meeting, I feel it again—the shimmering. That inevitable rewrite. I have a split second to close my eyes and brace for whatever comes next.

—-

… What.

I’m standing in the middle of a grimy alley, trench coat on, fedora pulled low. It’s raining, of course. Because why wouldn’t it be raining in this noir-style setup? I look around, and everything is black-and-white, except for a bright red door at the end of the alley.

“Detective,” a voice drawls from behind me.

I spin around, expecting some criminal mastermind, only to find… a bunch of mimes. Yes, mimes. They’re standing there, white-faced, pretending to lean on an invisible wall. One of them manage to tip too far and falls on their ass, they try to make it seem like it was on purpose.

I raise an eyebrow and facepalm myself. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The mime starts miming something elaborate - possibly a clue - but I’ve had enough.

“Alright, that’s it! Show yourself!” I shout to the sky, shaking my fist like a madman. “I’m done! I’m not playing this game anymore!”

And just like that, everything stops. The rain freezes mid-air, the mime pauses, halfway through pretending to be trapped in a box, and the entire world seems to glitch.

Then I hear it—a distant sound, like typing on a keyboard.

“Listen up, pal!” I yell. “You’ve rewritten me into everything from a pastry chef to a dragon CEO to a mime-infested detective, and I’m not going through another rewrite until we talk!”

There’s a long pause.“You think I can’t see you there, sitting in your underpants and drinking that energy drink of yours!” The typing stops. Glub, glub.

For a second, I think I might have actually won. Clunk.Maybe he’s finally realized how ridiculous this all is. Maybe he’s going to stop rewriting me.

But, of course, he doesn’t. That coward.

The world shifts again, and now I’m standing in a peaceful library, surrounded by towering shelves of books. A calm, soothing silence fills the air. I glance down. I’m in a sweater-vest, holding a cup of tea.

“Finally,” I mutter. “A librarian. I can live with this. Maybe I can find my favorite book somewhere.”

But as I turn to settle into my new life of shelving books and quiet, I hear it - a low, ominous hum. I whip around, and there, at the back of the library, is a glowing portal.

I sigh. “Oh, come on! Is this a time portal or something now? This is getting ridiculous!”

The portal crackles, and I swear, I can hear the typing again. The hair on the back of my neck starts raising. “What in the many damn worlds are you up to now?” I whispered sharply to the air around me. The portal starts shining, and yet again, everything is shimmering.

“Jax?” For some reason, her voice seem eerily familiar.

Suddenly.

A wave of people walk around me, they seem normal enough, until I notice a couple of men bumping into me, our eyes meet, but they have goggles for eyes and they have some sort of machinations fused with their flesh, all over their body. But, in the middle of all that, woman with silky white skin, long brown hair and sharp brown eyes stands before me. I look around me. Neon lights, cars flying in the air. I somehow feel at home. “Jax, what are you doing?” The woman giggles. “I think I dozed off for a second there,” I laugh. “Wait, there is something I’m supposed to be remembering.” A sharp pain runs through my mind. “Are you okay there?” She crosses her arms. “We’re supposed to be training right now.” “Right, how could I forget.” I murmur. “What did I say about you talking so silently? It sounds like you’re a little boy.” She giggles even more. “Come now, we’re almost done with your first stage.” “Coming, coming.” As we walk off, I instinctively look up at the sky. Why? Who knows.

—-

Why am now covered in slime? Where am I? A CAVE? You’ve got to be kidd—-

—-

**End.**