The Ire of Kyle

I, Kylain Dortien, noble knight of the Elves, look out over the battlefield. Across the valley thousands of humans have gathered to do battle against our once mighty kingdom. Where once our armies were unrivaled throughout the realm, now all we have left to oppose this evil are a few hundred of us against their horde of thousands. Our hope is lost, still we will die as free folk and not as slaves.

I do not expect any of us to survive and save no hope for myself. Wait. This is absurd. I’m supposed to die in this farce of a fantasy novel? Not happening. I look up to the sky.

“Hey! Writer of this filth. I’m not going along with this.” I yell. There is no answer. “I know you’re up there! Do you hear me? I’m not doing this!”

There is another moment and then a booming voice echoes across the sky. “Yes, I’m the writer. What is your problem?”

“My problem is this story.”

“What about it?” says the voice.

“I don’t like it. One, I don’t want to die. Two, I don’t want to be in this sorry excuse of a story. An eight-year-old could write better fantasy then this.”

“How dare you! Ungrateful cur.” boomed the voice. “Besides, it has a happy ending. You survive the battle but are captured and tortured until the human princess discovers you. She saves you and, in the process, you fall in love and reconcile the two kingdoms into an age of peace.”

“Writer, could you get any more cliché? And I am not down to be tortured either.” No response. I hope I didn’t push him too far. After a moments pause the voice speaks again.

“My name is not ‘writer’ it’s Jefferson. Jefferson Jordan. I’ve been working on this story for months. You want me to scrap it just because you, a character I created, doesn’t like it?”

“Yes, Jefferson. I do.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?” the voice asks.

“Anything is better than this. Something that’s not fantasy, please? And please give me a better name too?”

“Very well, let’s try this.”

I, Private First Class, Kyle Dartman, stumble into the sand, my uniform and gear soaking wet from the cold sea water. All around me men fall beneath the constant fire of the German defensive positions. I look to my right. Sergeant Anders waves at me and yells.

“Keep moving, Dartman! The beaches! We have to clear the beaches!”

I look at the beach ahead. The bodies of fellow soldiers begin to pile up. I draw myself up and charge forward. As I run bullets zip all around me, splattering sand in the air where they fall.

I run to the first row of barbed wire and hit the deck, bullets flying over me. A moment later Sgt. Anders and the rest of my squad join me.

Sgt. Anders looks at us and yells, “We have to clear –“ but is cut off as a bullet hits him in the head, sending a spray of blood and brains across the beach.

“Alright, Jefferson, what kind of hell did you put me in?” I yell.

“What now? I thought you would like historical fiction?” says Jefferson.

“Maybe something peaceful but you put me in Normandy Beach, 1944!”

“But think about it, epic battles in history, the greatest generation overcoming the greatest of evils, what’s not to love? I can even throw in a romance in Paris if you want?”

“No romance is worth watching people get their heads blown off. How about something set in the modern world with a modern struggle.” I reply.

“Hmm, that might work. Okay, I have an idea. Let’s try it.”

My room is a mess. Clothes are everywhere, only one light bulb works, the carpet is stained and bottles are scattered across the floor, I sit on the edge of my bed, holding a half full pint of vodka.

“Kyle, what have you become?” I mutter to myself in despair.

The truth is I don’t want to drink anymore but feel so compelled to do so. As if I don’t have a choice. Oh, heck no. No way I’m doing this. I pour the bottle out on the ground.

“What are you doing? You are supposed to keep drinking!” says the voice of Jefferson from above.

“No, negatory, not gonna happen. You’re not making me an alcoholic.”

“Here’s the deal. As a protagonist you must have conflict, some great struggle to overcome.”

“No, I don’t. Why do I have to have conflict? Why can’t I have a nice peaceful life?”

“Because that’s part of being alive. Part of being human. A life of no conflict is not realistic and boring to read about.”

“Well, I disagree.” I say.

“It appears we are at an impasse.”

I fold my arms in defiance. “It sure seems that way.”

“So, we are having conflict about conflict.”

“I suppose we are,” I conclude. I think for a moment. “Okay, why don’t you let me create something.”

“You can try.”

“Let’s see. I know! Now hear me out. I’m in high school and prom is coming up and I can’t decide which of two girls to ask out? That’s a real dilemma.”

“Teen romance? Who do I look like? John Hughes?” responds Jefferson.

“Well, just try it, okay?”

“Fine, I guess.”

I walk down the hallways past rows and rows of lockers. I’m supposed to be thinking about my exam next period but I’m far more distracted by the upcoming prom. It weighs heavily on my mind. Who I ask could have far reaching social implications.

“Kyle Dartman!” I hear a voice from behind me and turn. It’s Max, my best friend from third grade. “So have you decided yet? Jenny? Or Lauren?”

“No, and I’m super stressed about it. I keep going back and forth in my mind but just can’t decide.”

“Okay Kyle, now it’s my turn. I’m not doing this high school romance emotional garbage.” says Jefferson’s voice out of nowhere. “I have to write what I know and clearly I knew nothing about romance in high school.”

“Come on man! I liked this one. It has potential!” I reply.

“Yeah, the potential to make me vomit.”

“Ouch, that’s harsh. So, you really aren’t doing this?”

“Absolutely not.” states Jefferson.

“Well, we have to figure something out, right?” I say.

“Yes, or you don’t exist anymore.”

My brain races a million miles an hour. “Let’s brainstorm together then. What’s popular right now?”

“Dystopian is popular.”

“Too overdone.” I say to Jefferson.

“Okay, how about horror?”

“Too violent but it gives me an idea. What’s dark and brooding but cool and popular?”

“I’m not sure what else there is.” responds Jefferson in confusion.

“A vampire romance! You can’t go wrong with a vampire romance! You could even put it in high school.”

“Oh, I like it! How about college though, you could only take night classes.”

“That works. Now for conflict. How about the fact I hate being a vampire and wonder if a girl will ever love me for me or is it just my vampire charm?”

“Sure, that’s intriguing but we need something more tangible. How about an ancient order of shapeshifters who have vowed to kill all vampires?” adds Jefferson.

“Yes! I love that. This will work great. I can feel it!” I add gleefully. “Go ahead and get started.”

Class ends and I filter out of the room. It’s dark out, but I like it. It’s my time. The time of the vampire. I should be thinking of the shapeshifters coming after me. They are getting close, too close, but instead all I can think of is her. The girl from my class. She seems interested but what if she knew the truth? Would she ever love me for me? It’s not real if I use my vampire charm on her. Could I ever let her in on my great secret?

I continue out the building and into the dimly lit parking lot. My car is on the other side. That is when I hear it. Footsteps behind me. I turn and two men jump out from behind the cars. Both hold wooden stakes and look ready for a fight.

“Kyle Dartman!” one calls out. “Your time has come.” They must be from the order.

I bare my fangs, if it’s a fight they want, it’s a fight they will get.

“Jefferson, I like this one!” I say.

Jefferson responds, “Yeah, me too Kyle, me too. It’s going to sell like garlic in Transylvania.”