One draft at a time

There must be a certain corner in Hell specifically meant for writers and comedians. A place full of blank pages, dry of inspiration, motivation or discipline. And my room must be the closest thing to it.

I've spent the last three hours trying to come up with new material for my stand-up, but any joke I write falls flatter than a wet tortilla. I was quite sure God must've been punishing me for something. And if bad jokes were an insult to Him, then Lucifer must be hella proud of me.

The last joke I wrote stared back at me from the other side of the screen. Something about a dog, a priest and a burrito. I just couldn't face it. It deserved the delete key. I rammed it and there I was again, blank page — I never said there was more than one joke. Wasn't I complaining of a lack of inspiration? Well, the evidence is evident now.

The doorbell rang. It was my saving grace. Anything but more writing.

"Congratulations! You've been selected to be the protagonist of..."

On second thought, I'd rather be writing than have to deal with a sales-man.

"Unselect me," I responded as I slammed the door shut.

I didn't get to take one step before the bell rang again.

"Sir, you've been chosen as the main—," he blurted as soon as the hinges creaked.

"I don't want to buy anything. You may leave."

"But it's free, sir." The young guy replied.

"Double it and give it to the next person, then," I said in a language he could understand. I closed the door, but the smirk I had washed off as soon as the bell tolled again.

The creak of pain, again. This mustn't be healthy for it's hinges.

"Look. I don't want to buy anything. Even if it's free, and especially if it's free — I don't want it. There's always a catch with these things."

"Sir, I'm sure you'd like to reconsider."

I was prepared to not reconsider the insult that was about to come out my mouth as the teenager lifted a finger to silence me. He tapped the airpod he had in one ear and listened intently. I actually reconsidered the insult, took it back and stashed it away in my memory. It might come in handy at another time.

The phone call might've been my saving grace. Maybe this guy's owner wanted him back. At least I hoped so. He kept giving yesses and "mhm"s into the headset. It was now that I realized how much of an intern this guy was: early twenties, pimples, cheap suit, unironed, briefcase in one hand — reminds me of myself at his age. It gave me shudders, but I almost felt bad for the little guy. He must meet assholes all the time.

Just as I was in the middle of privately bonding with the kid, he gave a final affirmation into the airbud, tapped on it and turned to me.

"Sorry, sir. It seems the offer is no longer available."

"Thank God!" I replied.

"Well, you got God to thank, indeed. I have to give you this, though." He rummaged into the briefcase for a moment, fetched a letter and handed it to me.

It had my name on it, which I found strange. What was even stranger were the big, bold, red letters you'd see on an eviction notice, but instead of eviction...

"Trunk Notice," I mouthed out loud.

"Yessir. The Author says this draft is going nowhere. He decided to trunk it."

"Author? Trunk? What the hell do you mean? Is this a prank? Where are the cameras?"

"Author, Creator, God... call it whatever you want, I don't care. I'm actually glad I don't have to play the part anymore. I actually like when he decides to ditch manuscripts. I get to be whoever I want until the end."

"Damn, and here I was thinking I'm going crazy... but you're absolutely mental," I said. "Be free to be whoever you want to be. Just be... not here." With that final remark I closed the door, locked and latched it. No more crazy interns for today. It was time to write.

I took a step towards the desk. It felt odd. I was pretty sure, Tamara, my plant was on it. I must've moved it to the table... The table? Where's the table? I walked to where it was supposed to be, but nothing. Did I move it to the kitchen? This must be what aging feels like.

I went to check into the kitchen. The table wasn't there. Nor the fridge, nor the oven. The microwave was on still the counter, black, blocky and translucent. Translucent? It was black just a moment ago, but now I could see the wall on the other side. I jumped to it and tried to grab it. I caught air. It was gone.

Oh fuck! My world is going blank.

There was no question about it. Whether the intern was right or not, I had to find him. He might've been raving, but I'm the one that was going crazy now. There was only one way to know for sure.

I found him sitting in front of my building. His legs dangled from the edge of the sidewalk as he looked on into the distance, at the white, empty, haunting expanse.

He turned to me with a knowing, relaxed look. "It sounds bad, but I enjoy this part. I like to imagine what could've been there. A house, a shop, a tree... so many posibilities."

"What the hell is going on?! The world's being erased and you're just sitting there, staring?"

"Forgot it's your first time. I'll try to explain it: the world didn't exist to begin with. Your remember it because it was your background. I don't. I'm a side character. I don't need to know more than what's in front of me, nor do I want to. I'm unimportant and that makes me useful. You are important and that makes you unique. Useful gets to live in different drafts, unique gets cut if it doesn't work out. It just didn't work out this time."

I wish I could say the world started spinning around me, but there was no world to spin, no joke to make, no story to tell. I realized what a fool I was to decline him. I would accept it now. I learnt my lesson. If there was a way, I'd accept the calling. That's it!

"Call him!" I blurted out. "Call the Author."

"Call the Author?! Why would I do that? If I don't do anything I'll just wake up in the next story."

I could understand him. If I were in his place, maybe I would've done the same. Why risk it when I'd be safe no matter what happened? But I wasn't in his place. I was about to be unplaced, deplaced and replaced. When you're about to lose everything, no risk is too big.

I lunged for the earpiece, but by the time my palm reached his ear, he held a hand over my chest and a fist over the crevace.

"One more step and it'll see the end of the page," he said.

"Look... I'm sure we can work something out. Besides, if you really wanted to stop me, you would've thrown it already."

"You're right." He opened his hand and the tiny earphone fell out.

"What?" I blurted out as I stared at the dot falling. This was not what I thought would happen.

"Sorry, but I want to live another draft."

And just like that, my life's ending was written for me and I had no say in the matter. 'I could still strangle the fucker,' I thought. Then I thought better of it. If I die, I'd rather die with no blood on my hands.

Funny how the story ends — the side character keeps on living.

"That's it!" I said. "You're no longer a side character."

"Please... We're finished here. You can stop."

"A side character is supposed to stand on the side but you just stood between me and my goal. That makes you the villain."

He chuckled. "That's..."

He didn't get to finish before the earpiece came flying back and plopped right in front of my feet. I picked it and when I lifted my eyes, I could see the rest of the street, the apartments, the trees. While the intern was still stunned, I pushed the earpiece into my ear.

THIS IS NOT THE ENDING I PLANNED, BUT I LIKE IT.

"We're not done yet. I want to make a deal. Go ahead and read my mind," I urged him.

I FIND THIS EQUITABLE. CONSIDER YOUR DEAL ACCEPTED.

"What did you do, Will?" the intern asked.

"We get to live... one draft at a time."