One fine day I was walking through the woods and I saw a magical leaping tree frog of doom. At least, thatÕs what the sign around his evil looking neck claimed he was. And he was leaping and everywhere he touched the ground, it shriveled and died so I figured the sign was right. When he saw me, he stopped and looked up- all the while death spreading from his feet like poison ivy you scratched too much. I, feeling it would be rude to just stare at him in horror, said, Hello. Fine day, isnÕt it?Ó and he replied in a voice radiating darkness, It is, but it wonÕt be much longer!Ó
Continuing down this path we had a fine, polite conversation. Rob the Frog, as he calls himself, told me all about his plans to destroy the world and I told him all about my plans to become a writer. He said he likes writers because they use paper and he likes paper. When I inquired further upon this he explained: Paper is flammable. This is because trees are flammable. Paper is made of trees. Dry things burn better. Paper is dried tree. Thus, not only is paper flammable, but it is very flammable. (By now, I was getting nervous but I stayed quiet since I felt it rude to interrupt.) Writers use a lot of paper. They liked their used paper a lot- if you talk about recycling to writers, they generally freak out. Why, I donÕt knowÉ isnÕt used paper now useless? Recycle, and save the trees! (Save? He leaked death!) After all, trees are wet. Wet burning makes more smoke, thus trees burn in a more obvious, threatening, manner. Anyway, if you recycle a writerÕs used paper, they become very upset. Often, they cry. Or scream. Or through fits. But best of all, they help me carry out my goals because a very special few of them start killing people. Are you going to help me?Ó I type my stories,Ó I said noncommittally, trying to look unconcerned. Ah!Ó Rob replied with delight, The new, modernized, writer! Those are even better.Ó
My heart sank, but I kept walking beside him, (after all, my stories werenÕt here.) Why?Ó I asked, when it became clear he was expecting a reaction. (I was also a bit curious.) Because computers are made of electricity and metal, both of which can be enticed into beautiful explosions. And as their used metal responds better to destruction than paper does- thus more dramatically do their owners respond! Bombs, terrorism, mass killings! It is beautiful!Ó
Once more, I halted him and said, I save mine online too.Ó
At this, he began laughing, a high maniacal laugh that chilled my bones. The quiet forest became even more quiet. In fact, he enjoyed(?) my statement so much he began hopping into trees, and his sign came off. And with that, there was suddenly a young boy sitting beneath the tree, a lopsided sign dangling from a branch near his face. He gave one, last, now harmless sounding laugh and seemed to notice the change, for he looked down at himself in surprise- perhaps because of the change in the sound of his voice.

And that was how I met Christopher Alaska, an aspiring writer like myself that likes practicing his characters in real life. He has not yet told me how he manages his characters, but my life has never been the same and I never do know when a dragon might turn up on my doorstep.