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  • Pritika Chandra

Fourth wall falling

“Bright sunny days weren’t meant for little Georgie. All she could do was wait. Wait until the sweet, pleasant petrichor struck her mind and left her in a daze stronger than any she had had. This had been an ordeal had it not been for fufu who had made it his life’s purpose to bark at all butterflies which dare lay siege on his garden.”


Fufu?


I would NEVER name my dog Fufu. Probably Ben. Oh, or Sky. Sky sounds pleasant. Like a sparkly sunny benevolent …well sky.


But wait wait wait


Did this wacko just say I don’t like the sun?! SUN? OF COURSE, I LIKE THE SUN


No no no


This is all wrong


You’re telling my story wrong mister!


My name is Georgie and I loathe rain. I love all things bright. For starters? Sunshine. Oh, and the colour yellow. I don’t have a dog. Mom wouldn’t let me. And if I did, Sky would jump around in puddles. Oh, and he would love butterflies So if this moron says anything els-


“Much like her life, Georgie had a penchant for all things dark. Storms. The colour black-”


NOOooooooo


This is a stupid story!


All these authors in the world and I’m stuck with THIS idiot

I am going to break out of here




KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK


This is a page.

Fine!

TRR

RR

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrr

__________________________________________________________________________


“Much like her life, Georgie had a penchant for all things dark. Storms. The colour black-”


NOOOO don’t start again! I just tore that down!


Jesus.


You’re not going to listen, are you? The real question is, can you even?


Broken people in broken worlds creating broken stories.


Is that what you are?

A lost cause to a lost belief?

Go on then.


Take it from your head and put it on this paper


Do you need help with your story? Drive me into a ditch and give your readers a horrific ending. That's what you’re going to do aren’t you? Man ! Who hurt you?


You know what? Write your sad endings and your rainy poems. Bring your life to a circle. What came to you is what you went with. Inside these pages of white I will live the story that you give to me. But that’s not where it ends. We spoke about a circle. Well I did. And you...listened? Yes let’s pretend you did. You live the thoughts I show you here. I will tear your pages and you will ruin my story. And in between we will live lives that we give each other.


Deal? Deal.


A morally grey character in a morally black world. That’s what you are crafting, isn’t it? Get a kick? Give your readers a dystopian delight? Fine. Go with it. My world here has hope. All things pleasant, all things right. And it will get to you when it does.


There’s more to my story than what gets written here. I am more than what this character is shaping up to be. A stuck up author in a mundane world - that’s not my origin. A story will get written here. It will be read, loved, hated and much more. Far from the truth is what it will be. But what do you have to worry about, author? A story it was to you. And a story is what it will be.


So until next time? Yes, until next time. Till I tear your pages that is.


“Georgie had a drinking problem.”

ALRIGHT THAT’S IT!


TRR

RRRR

RRRRRRR

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

___________________________________________________________________________



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