Unwritten Endings

Prologue: I stared at the computer screen. Word after word after word. This thing drove me nuts. What good was trying to write a book anyway? So what, if the perfect book is not written, you must write it?” It was just too hard. I spent sleepless nights tossing and turning over names, dates, places, and people. I was exhausted from it. That’s it. I thought. I’m done. No more castles or dragons, no more talking statues or magic forests. I quit. Immediately, I felt a sense of freedom. I didn’t feel that heavy weight of not having reached my word goal for the day, or of being rejected by another publisher. I shut the laptop. I was free.

Frankly, I forgot about my brief 25 chapters, sitting on the computer screen. Friends, family, work. That was what I cared about. Sure, I dabbled in a couple of hobbies here and there, but nothing big or substantial. I had felt some guilt about not knowing, never knowing, how that story ended, but I forgot about it after some time. Except for glimpses here and there, small moments that made me think of, but that I shook out of my head and forgot about. After all, I was free. I didn’t notice something was up until much, much later. 

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It was a cold December evening, and I was rushing home from work as fast as I could to beat the snow that I was sure was coming. The street was a side street, empty and small. I hid my face in my thick jacket to hide from the numbing air. Unfortunately, the street wasn’t empty anymore. I ran straight into another bundled-up figure. He was dark, with black, messy hair. And I immediately knew who he was. Geric. I had written about him. He was in that unfinished book of mine. He was exactly how I imagined him. I couldn’t believe it. “Uh-excuse me.” He lurched off in the direction he came from. I stared after him. I stood there for a minute, staring after him. After he turned the corner, the sound of his thudding footsteps faded. I shook it out of my head, decided I had imagined it. 

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A couple of months later, I stood in the doorway of my favorite coffee shop. I shut the door behind me to close out the burning July heat. I breathed in the scent of coffee. I used to write in here, I remembered with a pang. I tried to forget that thought. I surveyed the small coffee shop. Round wood tables with wood chairs around them were spaced apart, giving a sense of room and privacy. Benches near the windows gave a view of the bustling street, without being a part of it. I loved it here. It wasn’t busy today. Just the workers and a young woman, no older than 25, in the corner. She had golden hair and eyes the color of the sea. She looked like a princess. I knew her from somewhere, something. She is probably an actress. I thought. I sat down near the window, trying to remember where I had seen her. She took out a book. The cover was a brown leather, with no writing or images. It was old-looking and didn’t have a name anywhere I could see. She looked frantically through it, then her eyes settled on a page. She whispered something I couldn’t hear over the classical music playing over the speakers. Suddenly, a brown bag, also leather-looking, appeared on the table in front of her. She then stood up, and I saw her clothes for the first time. She wore a long, white dress with a belt around the waist. They were made out of a rough cloth and had a tear down the sleeve and up to her knee in the skirt. Her hand was covered in a bandage, slightly stained with red. Swiftly, she headed towards the front counter. “I need the fastest  transport you have.” She had a thick, but regal, accent, as if she were used to being in charge. “You can hail a taxi out front.” Was the shop owner's only reply. “Thank you. Fair well.” She turned and left quickly. I looked out the front window and saw her glance around, then sprint down the street. Suddenly, it hit me. Her name was Adralie Kiraline, princess of Ashen. I wrote about her, too. 

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The very next day, I was walking in the park, thinking about Adralie, when I saw two people arguing in front of a park bench. One had long golden hair, which shone brightly in the bright sun; the other had black, messy hair, quite a contrast to the woman he was with. As I walked closer, I heard their words. “You never could!” she screamed in her thick accent, her face red. “That's how you nearly got me killed in the forest of Arden!” She showed him a deep cut on her leg. He winced. “I never almost got you killed.” He replied, much quieter than she was. “I know I made a few mistakes, but you need me now.” He looked genuinely wounded now. “A few?” She laughed, “If I weren’t there, you and Cassian would be dead right now!” She was very angry now. “If you hadn’t insisted on blowing that stupid horn, then the archers wouldn’t have found us!” She had tears running down her face now. “And Dawn would still be alive!” She broke off into sobs and collapsed onto the park bench, sobbing into her hands. Geric sat down beside her and began speaking softly to her. I turned and ran back towards my house. Dawn? Cassian? I knew them from somewhere, something. Suddenly, it hit me. I sprinted back towards my apartment. I opened my laptop. Names floated around me: Adralie Kiraline, a young princess. Cassian, a strong knight. Dawn, the daughter of a wealthy duke. Geric, a mere soldier of the king's army. The four main characters of my story. I couldn’t believe it. But I now knew what I had to do. I focused on my computer and wrote.

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I published my story two months later. It may have never been a bestseller, but I know for a fact it made many people happy. Me, and hopefully my characters, included.