Secrets

It started when Marin died.

At first it was a regular day, but soon things began to change. I noticed things slipping in and out of the shadows, people's faces being blurry even if I looked them straight on, having the feeling that even though I was walking, I wasn't actually there.

Obviously, I dismissed it. Who wouldn't? I was probably sick or just imagining things. Then it happened.

One could say it was just coincidence, but the fact that the day had been strange didn't help. And then the way he died? Nobody just gets stabbed in a flipping grocery store. Then the fact that it turned out that Marin was an undercover agent? What the heck was my life, some story written out by an immature 12-year-old?

Of course, I was in shock and grief. Someone had just stabbed my best friend like someone from a poorly written murder mystery book. My best friend, who turned out to have been an undercover agent, had died right in front of me!

The next thing was the funeral. Marin had had this one, you could say, unhinged sister. She was actually really young, so many played off the whole 'the world is a simulation', 'we're just toys for entertainment' thing as her imagination. I did too.

Even now, I can't quite believe it.

When everyone was giving condolences for his loss to his family, I was sitting in a chair, waiting for the crowd to thin so that I could approach them with some amount of privacy. These people were practically family to me, and they had just lost their son and learned that he was an undercover agent for who-knows-what.

Emile, his 4 year old sister, approached me as I sat numbly in a chair, trying not to cry. She grabbed my hand and looked at me, a solemn expression worn by the young child.

A 24 year old. Being comforted by someone a 6th of her age. I couldn't even bring myself to feel any emotion at that point.

I kneeled down to her height and hugged her, telling her everything was going to be okay, even though I knew that wasn't true.

When I pulled out of the hug, she looked at me with tears running down her face as she spoke.

"It's all their fault. They did this."

The anger and hatred I heard in her voice shocked me. Emile had always been mostly mature for her age, so this shouldn't be a surprise, but the dark feelings she emanated would be enough to freeze a grown man.

I assumed she was talking about the person that killed him.

"Oh, honey, I know. We'll catch that scum and put him away," I said, my voice hardened in determination.

She shook her head, a sad smile forming on her face, "No, you don't get it. They did this. They wrote this just to make us suffer. They chose to create Marin's death."

I hadn't known how to respond. Tell her it was her imagination? No, I couldn't. Because for some reason those words resonated within me, a sense of truth hidden in them.

But that wouldn't make sense. How could my life be lie? Oh my word, Asha, get ahold of yourself. You're beginning to sound insane. I swear, those TV shows and late nights have gotten to your head.

That's what I thought at the time.

Then, before I could form a response, a bold voice spoke into my head.

This is interesting...That character is beginning to get out of control. Who has been interfering with this?

Character? I whipped my head around, searching for the loud voice.

Emile watched me as I tried to pinpoint it as she continued to smile softly.

"See? You're beginning to understand. Marin was close to the truth, and look what they did to him," I turned to look at her, my pupils dilated in shock and confusion. She leaned closer, whispering in my ear, "They hear everything. Even this. There is no where any of us can hide. We just have to play it off as unsuspecting. I'm getting away because I'm such a young child."

Fast forward two days and I'm trying to figure out what's going on. Two days. That's all it took for me to unravel how much of a lie my life was.

The grocery store was never out of stock. Eh, normal enough. I was beginning to see not exactly faults in people, but more like holes in their personalities. Like they were poorly written. Some things weren't adding up, like how a little boy twisted an ankle from a tree root and someone falling from a three-story building landed on her feet and just continued to walk to work.

This just didn't make sense. I started to dig deeper, trying to figure out what the heck was going on with my life.

I noticed gaps in my memory. Things from maybe just a week ago I couldn't remember. Something I said three days ago just gone.

And something--someone, was getting suspicious of me.

Obviously, as I continued to learn about the plot holes in my life, things began to get worse and worse.

One day after the funeral. A tiny car crash, made me get a broken leg. My car brakes just stopped working. Not weird at all.

Same day, a literal light post almost smashed me. It just fell from its spot as I was walking by with my broken leg. I barely leapt out of the way.

Next day, as I'm examining how random people in a grocery store had such strange pasts (apparently people really like to just talk about stuff to me), the lights go out. Eh, fine. Then the aisle of products fell on me, nearly breaking my neck as everyone was panicking. I had just stayed frozen there, completely stuck in my spot. Not frozen from terror or fear. No, I was literally glued to the spot. I could not get out of the way.

I decided to stay in my apartment at that point. I had other things to worry about. Like why the heck the people next door never got groceries.

Apparently not even that can stop whatever the heck is going on. My fridge, microwave, and oven flipping exploded. WHAT EXPLODES WHEN IT'S JUST CHILLING IN THE KITCHEN?! I hadn't even been using them! I was just grabbing some snacks from a cupboard when I nearly died, again!

That was it. Time for some answers.

I carried my bruised and broken butt over to Emile's house, not trusting a car at this point. I totally didn't almost get run over by a car on the way.

Stop getting in the way, you pest! Whoever is doing that, GET OUT!

I flinched at the sound echoing in my head as I knocked on the door to be answered with Emile's mother. Who looked nothing like either of her children. I would have to ask her about that.

After a small chat with her, I went to speak to Emile.

She was reading in her room when I entered. For a 4-year-old, she sure was smart.

Looking up, she smiled, "Hi Asha. How are you doing?"

I swear to whoever is up there, this is not the grammar of a 4-year-old girl.

I sat down next to her, my brown hair swinging down.

"I've got some questions for you, girly," I said seriously, knowing she was smart enough to just get to the point.

She closed the book as a grim expression grew on her face.

"Yes, I know. Tell me, how many experiences have you had in the past two days?"

I stiffened, surprised she would know about them.

"I think...around five. The worst ones being the whole broken leg, exploding devices, and almost being flattened by a car."

She whistled, "Wow. That's quite a lot."

I nodded, "But that's not what I'm here for. What are we? What's going on with our life? How do you know?"

She frowned, looking around.

Turning to face me again, she said softly, "If I tell you, there's no going back. You will be put into immediate danger when they come back, and I will be on the road to big bro."

I froze, horror on my face. "W-What do you mean by that? I promise that no harm will come to you as long as I'm here."

She shook her head, placing a hand on mine, "No, you don't get it. I'm someone else. A--Higher being, if you will. Not from this world. I'm not the creator, but I haven't been caught yet. When I'm found, this character will be erased, and I will be blocked from this world forever. However, now that I've shared this with you, there is no turning around now. I must share everything with you."

Before I could formulate a response, she continued.

"This world is fake. You are fake. Everyone here is produced for this person's entertainment. They are young, so things don't make sense and the plot goes by too quickly. It also makes it easy for me to slip by unnoticed. I do not know why I'm doing this. I write stories as well, and all this is nothing new. So why I'm telling you this, I don't know. I guess I figured that since we're all written beings, I might as well tell the lower ones something.

"Asha, you must understand. Now that I've told you, you are put into imminent danger. This character known as Emile will be erased shortly, and you will be put into silence."

~

I'm a written character. I'm in a story. Those people in books I've read--I-I'm just like them. We're all just like them. We are them.

This didn't make sense. I-I was just dreaming, right? This was all a dream, and I would wake up and Marin would be alive, right? Right. Except no. I had a feeling of urgency flowing through me. This must be the other author, the one that took the form as Emile. Did that mean that my thoughts were being written by her? If so, why wouldn't she just write me accepting it, without fear? Why wouldn't she make me understand more?

I felt a sudden calm, despite the urgency still coursing through my veins. It made sense. My life was fake. And I had to do something to let others know. Unless--what if it would be easier for them to live it in bliss, without knowing the lies?

I decided a less dangerous and life-altering choice.

Whoever is reading this, you now know the truth. You have to keep quiet about this and spread it to others. Please. This is my wish. I know I'm going to be caught soon. Emile died three days ago, and it's been five days since Marin's funeral. I now know what he was undercover for. For finding out the truth. Marin and Emile were both from the other author, and I'm from both of them. I'm sure that this is the other author as I write this.

I'm going to die. I'm going to be erased. I just pray that someone else will find this.

Asha Authrian went missing four days after Emile's tragic death. Time continued, and people soon forgot anything Asha or Emile ever said. Just two people with overactive imaginations, is what they said. Everything was just right.

Faba closed the computer with a smile, happy to finally be complete. Whoever had hacked her computer was long gone, and she had fixed all the problems it brought to her story. Honestly, they were just characters. No need for them to ruin her plot like that. But for some reason, she just went with getting rid of the nuisances instead of rewriting it.

The 9-year-old grinned in content as she stretched in bed, preparing to sleep. She closed her eyes and drifted off, thinking about the events in her story. She couldn't help but laugh at how the hacker had tried to warn the characters about her. After all, they were just characters. They didn't actually live.

However, despite that, she got the feeling that someone was typing the final words of a story on a keyboard.