Stranger Than Fiction.

"He's having writer's block again I see." So the inner voice spoke up again as the fellow being spoken to took notice of the lack of the author about.

The room they both occupied for the moment was indeed very empty of the author but the voices continued with their discourse on his latest work. It was for the most part a rather large office with a even rather larger amount of books on shelves, the floor, and a few sat as if they had been there a long time on older wooden chairs that had seen better days. It was a cluttered room of a life of books, collecting odds and ends of whatever interests the author had for that moment, but the room also had that air of a place he relished being in and had the scent of Earl Grey tea about the office and library.

"He gets like this whenever he thinks he is writing crap or simply displeased with the progress of any particular story he is working on. Story is going slow and he doesn't like it."

"Well, he is preoccupied." So the first voice replied with an air of knowing where all this was going at some point. "I think he is having a problem with his writing of the main character...."

"Why? I am quite easy to explain and let's not complicate the issue. He's bored of the story and has no idea what to do with me now that he's created me. He's simply bored." The main character of the novel responded with the air of one not really sure he liked being left dangling in middle of a paragraph.

The other character spoke up, "You have no business complaining, you're still very much alive and kicking and are simply not liking where he left you when he suddenly left the writing to answer the door."

"I know who it is and why she came."

"I doubt you know anything of the sort. How do you know it's her?"

Not happy, "It's always her. She comes because he needs that soft and gentle touch of a woman's body and in some cases with him just her presence is enough to lift him from these doldrums of being a writer without a life unless he is writing."

"Well, she is quite pretty. One must admit she is quite the girl with all that dark red hair surrounding those deep blue eyes..."

"There contacts and the hair is dyed."

"Maybe he should just not finish the novel and let you suffer."

"I will not allow that to happen. He created me to be his greatest work of fiction and I will not allow myself to end up on the rubbish heap of forgotten or in this case unfinished fiction. I have rights to be allowed to be finished being created and that my story be told."

"You're a killer in this novel. A cold bloodied psychopath. You've already killed seven women I might add and one of them is me. What did I ever do to you?"

He chuckled, "Take it up with the author, I didn't create you and I certainly didn't know of you before I saw you in that bookstore. I can only act according to my creator's writing. I am the victim here and I should be pitied. Have you not read my backstory?"

The other voice wasn't impressed, "What backstory? He hasn't really written one has he?"

There was a calm silence between them as from the other side of the door of the office was heard a soft voice of a young girl giggling about something as the author spoke about his latest trip to New York.

"He's talking about that trip again to see his parent's in New York." Adding, "She sounds younger than she actually is. Acting lessons?"

"I liked New York. So much to see and do and people to kill if I could be free of this novel he's attempting to finish."

"What would you do if you could escape the bounds of the novel? You can't function outside the pages of what he writes. You're fiction."

The other voice seemed to think about it a bit as the girl behind the door laughed again at something.

"I really would like to kill her." He finally spoke up, "She's interrupting my story."

"You seem to forget your not real. Well, not real in his world but certainly in the pages of the novel...."

"Maybe he'll write her into the story and then maybe I can kill her." A thought was coming to him, "You are aware of course that is where you came from. You're just a figment of his imagination as well. A composite of two women he knows. One he actually married and then divorced...The other I am not sure who she is."

"I'm very aware of who I am based on. Let's stick you and your pathological need to kill like Jack The Ripper."

"I am Jack and I like to rip open women with my knife and so forth. It's great fun to hunt them down and then, well, you know from personal experience, I like to kill them."

"This book he is writing sometimes scares me the way he writes with such a hostile look. He gets that look and it becomes almost demonic?"

"I like it." Amused at something, "He created me to be a modern Jack The Ripper and I am living up to the name."

"I sometimes wonder what he does when he's not here? He can't always be writing?"

Again the sound of chatting and laughed is heard beyond the door.

"I wonder if he will bring her in here?"

"No, I am sure once they are done chatting, flirting, and I am sure touching the whore he will take her upstairs and fuck her brains out."

"You have no romance at all."

"I was not written for romance. I was written to kill."

"Why did you kill me? Why did you pick me anyway? I seemed to have been a random character for you to kill."

"Well, I didn't write you into the story so I can't answer your question but I am glad he did."

"You enjoyed killing me?"

"Well, that was the way I was written. I am a victim of society and am not responsible for my actions I am sure."

"All I remember is that one moment I was in a bookstore and the next I was being killed. No backstory at all. Not even sure I had an actual name...."

"I didn't ask."

"Did I have a husband or kids or what was my job? Who was I in that story before you killed me?"

"Don't know nor did I care to know."

"Not at all interested in my life before you butchered me?"

"Not in the least as it's not in my character as a killer to ask or care. I can only act in accordance with the author's expressed written story and you must act only in accordance with your written character. It's not like you are actually a real person. You're just an idea, a figment of his imagination, a character to do as he pleases in the grand scheme of writing this novel."

"Just like you."

Jake started laughing, "We'll see about that!"