Rilestone and the Narrating Angel

Rilestone Jian Silver had just woken up, shaking off the strange dreams of visions from his waking moments merged with images yet to be explored, but he has not gone to such places or times just yet. He blinked several times, tilting his head left and right as if a peculiar sound had caught his attention. He shook his head, stood up...and tilted his head again. His eyes, gifts from his father that could pierce the veils of illusions even by Fallen Angels, shifted in all directions as he searched for that peculiar sound. His ears, gifts from his mother and able to pick out the voice of one human being from a crowd of a million, turned with his head like a radar trying to pinpoint the direction of his current discomfort.

Nothing. He went downstairs to the kitchen.

Rilestone burst through the door-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

WHAAAA! Wha-wha-what? Ho, goodness!

Right, as I was saying-

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! WHO'S THERE?!"

WHAAA! Not again. Getting into a fighting stance, Rilestone looked around-

"Where are you? Where's that voice coming from?!"

Voice? He heard a voice?

"Yes! You! The speaking voice! The voice that I heard in my bedroom! The voice in the kitchen! This kitchen! Who are you? Why are you in my house?!"

Wha-hold up...

Wait...

"Okay, I'm waiting!"

Rilestone...

"Yes! How do you know my name?!"

Uhh...

"...yes?"

You...you can hear me?

"Yes!"

Like, now?

"Like...now!"

Hmmm....

This has never happened before.

"What? Breaking and entering?"

What? No! I've always been here. I mean, I created this place.

"My father created this place. This is his home. It was his father's home, his real father! Well, until it was burned down, but he rebuilt it."

True, but it is as it was written. In that, I wrote it, and it happened.

"You're not making any sense!"

You're nine years old. You would not understand without proper context. So, let's just relax, okay? Put your fists down and let's just discuss this curious predicament.

"Pre...dic...ament? What is pre...dic...a...ment?"

It's a situation of a difficult nature, in that it is hard to explain, but I will answer whatever questions you have. You can think of me as The Narrator.

"Wait...are you God?"

Good heavens, no! I'm not THE Creator, I'm just...The Narrator, an author.

"An author? As in, books?"

Yes. That is what an author is known for. Also, I am the Narrator of this particular book.

"What book?"

This book. This story. A story that revolves around a young boy, a boy who is more than he seems, in a world that leaves behind one terrible war and heads to a different stage of strife and suffering, but this child will remember his promise and, through the Truth, will work to overcome the waves of evil from the Deceiver.

"You mean...me?"

Yes, you. You're the star, so to speak. The main character. There are many other characters in your story, each one growing and developing just like you. You will interact with them, and they will leave their impressions upon you. Some good, some evil.

"Oh. Why?"

Well, because...because that's what main characters do. They go about, they interact, and they develop thoughts upon their interactions.

"Oh. Why?"

Because it adds to the story. It helps people understand what is going on, and why.

"Uhhhh..."

Rilestone, your story involves many an interaction with many an individual across the world, and even beyond it. You will-

"Beyond?"

Yes. Oh, I'm revealing too much.

"Wait, wait! You've already revealed so much, we can't just let this go."

But Rilestone-

"Please! Whoever you are, whatever you are...wherever you are, I just want to talk."

Rilestone looked around-

"Would you stop that? I know what I'm doing, you don't have to tell me."

Very well. Rilestone stop-

Sorry. Habit. I'll stop now. But this is my job, you know.

"You get paid for this?"

Uhh...that's personal.

"Okay. Do you do anything else besides...you know, narrating?"

That's also personal. I'll tell you what, I'll answer any questions that are related to the world you live in, minus events that haven't happened yet in specific details. I will not reveal any endings, or beginnings, only with what you have already interacted with and what you could end up interacting with, again with no specifics. I'll also answer any questions pertaining to my world, but only where I am or could be involved.

"Okay. Will I meet any interesting characters."

Probably.

"Will I grow up?"

Eventually.

"Will anyone else be narrating my story?"

No. Not without my say-so and overseeing.

"Fair enough. Oh, will I get siblings?"

Nice try.

"You aren't giving me a lot to work with here."

I've already said so much. I should not spoil anything.

"Do you have a real name?"

Yes, but I cannot tell you that.

"Can you tell me the full names of my parents?"

Not yet. You already heard their first names, you know a bit about their backstories, but I can only elaborate on what you have heard. They will tell you more about themselves in due time.

"Don't you mean that, as an author of this story, you will right about them telling me?"

Well...yes. The thing is, Rilestone, that as an author, I must spin this in a way that makes all the characters feel alive, look alive, and act alive. This plays out into the minds of all who read the story as if the characters are alive.

"But they aren't, are they? They're fiction and..."

Yes?

"I am also fiction. I'm not alive, am I?"

But, in a way, you are alive.

"But you said-"

Hold! Just, hear me out. Are you listening?

"Yes."

Do you remember that magician's show you went to on your eighth birthday?

"Well, you wrote that too, I am guessing."

Yes, but the point, Rilestone, is relevant. See, you remember the illusions and were wowed by the performance, right?

"Yes...if you say I was."

It's not just that! Listen, that show covers two points of mine. Firstly, it enthralled you, remember? You thought that the magic was real, and even when you learned about the illusions used, it did little to sway you from being entranced every time you saw a magic show. It was alive.

"Um...I think I get it, but what's the second point?"

That magic show, in this moment, is an allegory for the story itself, and all other stories in point of fact. See, the readers know that the story is fictional. They know the characters exist in the stories, and through their imaginations, the characters come to life even more. Sometimes, a story is translated to a movie or television series, and bring the characters alive in motion and spoken words. Eventually, the plan is to do this with your story.

"You mean, I and everyone else here will be on screen?"

That is the plan.

"This is all so much to take in. But, wait! There's a problem!"

There are several issues to overcome. Equipment, models, actors, all costing money. Plus, there's the economy, the environment...

"No, no, no! I mean, knowing all this, I kind of broke the illusion."

Sigh, true.

"Are you saying sigh' to indicate sighing, or did you actually sigh and it came out as, 'sigh' just now?"

...yes.

"So, what about the illusion? Or the world I live in, where everyone that I know, or could know, or wish I didn't know? What will happen to it? To me? To everyone I love? How will that affect you? Your world?"

Whoa, hold your horses! Let's not panic, there's a way to address this, to fix this for everyone.

"Okay, let's do it!"

Child, listen. There is a catch, and you aren't going to like it.

"What's the catch?"

You are correct, the illusion is broken. So far, you are the only one aware of what he is in the here and now, probably because you are the main character, but this could lead to others finding out and the illusion breaking even further.

"How bad is that?"

Maybe it won't do much except make for a bad story.

"I mean, how bad is that on my end?"

Oh, sorry. It could mean the end of your universe. In point of fact, of course.

"Oh, no! I don't want that. What's the solution? What's the catch?"

Okay, be still now. And brace yourself. See, the solution is called Re-telling. I merely retell the story from the top, this time without being aware to anyone within the story. Even you will not know that I am here. The catch is that you will not remember our interaction. At all.

"Oh...oh. That's...that's actually unfortunate."

What do you mean?

"I mean, you sound like an interesting person. To me, of course, because you are my author, the person creating me and this universe that I live in. And we just met. I just...I just don't like forgetting people, that's all."

That is how you were written, and that is good to hear. But those are our only choices.

"Well, I don't want my universe to be destroyed, or whatever will happen. I don't think my parents would be happy about that."

Believe me, no one's parents would be happy about that. Are you saying you're on board with the Re-telling?

"Um...yes. Yes, I am all for it."

All right, let's begin-

"WAIT!"

Aah! What! What is it?

"Before I...forget, will you at least tell me your name?"

I told you, I'm the Author. Not God, just...the Narrating Angel.

"No, I mean, your real name. I'm going to forget everything, right?"

Only from now until back to your bedroom this morning.

"Right, yes! So, would you tell me your name? Please?"

Very well. My name is Steffen.

"Steffen. Nice to meet you, Steffen."

It is nice to meet you, too, Rilestone. Are you ready?

"Sigh. And I meant, 'sigh', the exhalation, not the word."

Heh-heh, I know.

"I am ready. Goodbye, Steffen."

See you later, Rilestone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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Rilestone Jian Silver had just woken up, shaking off the strange dreams of visions from his waking moments merged with images yet to be explored, but he has not gone to such places or times just yet. He blinked several times, tilting his head left and right as if a peculiar sound had caught his attention. He shook his head, stood up...and tilted his head again. His eyes, gifts from his father that could pierce the veils of illusions even by Fallen Angels, shifted in all directions as he searched for that peculiar sound. His ears, gifts from his mother and able to pick out the voice of one human being from a crowd of a million, turned with his head like a radar trying to pinpoint the direction of his current discomfort.

Nothing.

A thought came to him, and he grabbed a piece of paper, a pencil, and started drawing.

He came downstairs to the kitchen about fifteen minutes later, grateful that today was a Saturday, and an off day for himself and his parents. Already, his mother Lilli was setting up plates of scrambled eggs and toast, with his father Harris setting up three mugs upon the table - one of coffee for himself, one of tea for Lilli, and one of orange juice for Rilestone. Harris looked upon Rilestone walking over to the fridge and, taking a magnet, hung up a drawing.

"Good morning, son!"

"Morning, Dad. Morning, Mom."

Lilli looked over at her son, noticing the drawing. "Hey, honey. What's that?"

Rilestone looked back at his morning sketch. "It's us."

Harris and Lilli set down the dishes and gathered behind Rilestone. "I see me, son, and your mother and you. It's a really good drawing, Rilestone."

Lillie pointed at the drawing. "Who's this behind us, honey?"

Rilestone smiled. "That's an angel."

Harris nodded. "Oh, I see. A guardian angel?"

Rilestone shook his head. "No. I mean, in a way, he could be, but he's more like...a recorder. An observer. He sees our story throughout our days and tells the world about us. I call him, 'The Narrating Angel'. One day, we might meet him."