Fiction Writing class serves as the only educational environment that ever captured my full interest. As I walk into Mr. G’s neat classroom a small, nearly invisible smile sprouts from my lips and brightens my empty face. It’s here that I’m free, and even expected to do what I love most.

Since my early youth I’ve been creating stories for a hobby. It all began with a silly superhero team I thought of to keep my many days spent alone entertaining. It was with these characters I filled my empty soul and eased my aching heart. To me the people that existed only in the ink on my paper were just as real and just as feeling as a person born into flesh.

I sit at my desk and the smile fades into nothingness as soon as I realize it’s presence on my face. I mustn’t show emotion here; it makes me weak in the eyes of the people aiming to hurt me. Fiction writing doesn’t require a lot of explanation, another reason I adore this class. Less grammar review, more writing, thank you.

I stare at the blinking cursor on my screen, the small flashing line pulls me in and doesn’t let me go. Soon, I can hear my own heartbeat matching the cursor in perfect harmony and my eyes can no longer see anything else but that cursor. This cursor is all there is in this world and all that will be. What was once reality withdraws until it is no longer there, only the cursor remains in this grand void.

However this emptiness is what gives me my power, I can change the world.


Click click click

That is the unmistakable sound of a world being made. Just like that, a new face stands in front of me, appearing from the celestial dust of creation. The new character has a strong and proud posture, her arms are folded across her chest like her entire existence was devoted to rebellion, to defiance. A few minutes of silence as her appearance becomes more and more detailed with each click. Fiery red hair contrasts her blue eyes, and her arms look stronger than my own.

Finally, after much waiting, I was ready to ask her the most important question I might ever ask my characters.


“Who are you?” I ask, the ambient clicking stopped and left my mind in complete silence.
“And just who are you?” The girl responded rashly.
“I’m Bryce. Your creator.”
“And I’m president peanut.”
“Wh-- Nevermind, what’s your name?”
“Alina.”
“Last name?” I requested.
“Don’t have one.”
“What do y--”
That much was enough, for the world in which Alina lives in starts to build itself around me and Alina disappears completely. The darkness surrounding me lights itself and the sun and the moon are born along with the world that they are destined to guide with their light.
Not far off are the walls of a massive city, like something you might see in ancient rome. But this couldn’t be ancient rome, there were armed gunmen on top of each tower wearing white and red full body cloaks. One of them started to shout at me, but that couldn’t be true, they can’t see me. Then who were they--
Right on que, Alina rus straight through me. It appears she is fleeing from the city, my suspicions are confirmed when a moment later a bullet flies straight through my head and collides with the dirt. In this world I am omniscient and all seeing, I follow her with an overhead view and I can hear myself typing away in the other reality.
Alina finds her way into a rocky area, where she ducks behind a boulder to avoid a gunshot. Unknown to her, she had just wandered into the nest of a perhaps even more dangerous foe. The sounds of canine growling grow ever stronger and ever closer until a Mutt turned a corner to spot the exhausted Alina. The fiery haired girl gasped, noticing what had just caught wind of her and reached for her knife. The Mutt jumped at her, barking wildly but sh--

I was interrupted before I could finish. The school bell pulled me back into the other reality, and my new world was reduced to words on a screen.