Awareness, the disease.

When living in a house where your business is everyone’s business, it’s hard to leave said house without mild interrogation. Where you going? Why are you going there? Let me come. Every movement is monitored so cover ups must be unique and plausible. It’s why birthday’s are brilliant, not for seeing the joy on your siblings face but because leaving the house is seamless. An awkward mumbling of, “present for your birthday” gets you out, no questions asked. It comes with a side of excitement that keeps their mind preoccupied while you spend longer than promised doing your own thing.

That’s how it feels when the writer is in their flow state and your actions are finally you’re own. The freedom of the flow state is still a prison but at least a character like me knows when I walk its walls that I choose to do that. Freedom in body but am I free in mind? It’s the question that throbs when the writer has other focuses. Right now, pondering my own self identity is only possible thanks to my brother and his ‘friend’ having some deep conversation by the fire. It’s clear to all that a romantic narrative is being pushed here, the writer needs this to work. Why else have all these spontaneous dangers or strange fears never seen before this journey started? Those who used to be my friends claim ‘they were just meant to be!’ but in reality it was forced to be.

Friends turn characters, no that’s too kind. These people are puppets, I am a puppet with conscious. Is my name really Caleigh? It’s awfully easy to nickname. Am I really a snarky person or before all this was I shy and friendly? Mind and body taken and changed with ink that cannot be washed away. The only thing seen through this fog is that there was someone I used to care deeply about. Existing only in my soul without a name, face or anything that would make them human, whoever they were made me look how my brother does now. It’s why I know he will fail spectacularly. My relationship, platonic or not, was not of interest to the plot. Everything must have use and from what I know from my own reading, feminine relationships often serve a specific use in this genre. Death or marriage.

As protagonist, surely my brother will have a say in which it is. Sacrificing the victory which seems precious now.

Heat from the fire softens and the sky is absorbed in darkness not a star to dot the sky.

Just now, energy fueled by resistance drains and is replaced with exhaustion. The compulsion to yawn takes over and my feet take me to the tent. These bursts of freedom are becoming shorter as the scenes tighten. The story is coming to and end but we as characters are not finished. Clues swish through my mind before sleep takes over, this world is your run of the mill fantasy with a cliché group deciding to overcome tyranny. My brother has had everything work out for him, only a few road bumps to sign post his arc, not that I’ve seen change. Minor strife is taken care of by supporting characters such as myself, anything major is miraculously avoided. I know my place but foolishly it has not clicked with him. If this writer continues along this path that’s been written thousands of times before them, my brother will not succeed. Someone else, someone unexpected, is destined to sweep it from his feet. Those the plot keeps close to him are my suspects, so not me.

With the sun back in place our character masks are sowed tightly to our faces. At this stage in the journey even the energetically comedic character, who more so annoys us but entertains the reader, has become tired. Not of the act, never of the act, only of the journey combined with fear of what’s to come. She’s right to be afraid, the little funny Frynn who’s good with an axe but has drowned herself in mistakes is certain to die. I cannot help but hate her for what she did. None of it was on purpose but nothing is our own. I expect to have forgiven her soon but too late, her final apology will be with some death sacrifice for my brother. Alongside the self hating desire to fix everything, the oh so necessary love triangle was born from it with Frynn frantically needing his approval.

Approval is something I can resonate with, what I’ve been told to resonate with. Maybe that’s what will revive our friendship. Though our sibling rivalry is too deep to be filled. Our father had no reason to pit us against each other, knowing it’s a writers doing I’m still upset. This trip began because of our father, our collection of artifacts included this damn rock because of him. So now we have to return it and hope it takes this god with it. Our father isn’t anything, he’s a trope. Yet my brother has never once tried to redeem himself in my eyes, only his love interests. Karyn was indirectly wronged by our social position and my brother fills every box to earn forgiveness. It’s fair, it was unfortunate how she grew up but some of his development could given to me. There was a time, I think, where I reached out. Nobody else can remember to confirm so it’s safe to assume the writer deemed it unnecessary and cut it from the story. While the plot is basic in the heroes journey leaving home with his patch group friends, the writer has ideas. I wouldn’t personally recommend the book but I’m biased since this book has ruined my mind, relationships and body. Even with my reservations, there is an aspect of skill to be acknowledged. This rift is not for naught and it will affect his success, if there’s room for success anymore. So far everything has led to something. My snarky comment in the market made Karyn trip, make a mess and flee the scene rather than tidy it up. Thus she crashed into my brother who was on his way to speak to father and before you know it we’re all on this journey not long before our horses miraculously one by one disappear, most with our tents. This was convenient for making us share our tents which my brother made clear I was not an option. Maybe it’s because it wasn’t meant to be this way but sometimes his aversion to me feels exaggerated.

His relevance is because of his exaggerated emotions. The puppy dog character who everyone must love, those who don’t are silenced. Any comments that do slip through are not seen for their truth but for the weight they put against him.

“So, Caleigh, feelin’ ready? Once your brother puts the gem back in its rightful place he’ll probably be crowned king. You’d make a great personal knight,” Frynn says trying to revive the groups moral.

“If he’s able to, we’ve no real idea what we’re facing. Being the-… leader isn’t enough,” I snuff. ‘Protagonist’ is what I wanted to say, it’s what was needed. He is not enough. This plot needs more, the ropes of tension have been tightening ready for the twist that chokes us all, including the reader. “Oh don’t mind her Frynn, she just wishes she was as capable as me. Not just in swordsmanship, personality is more important when it comes to leadership. I see the best in everyone, it’s why we got this far!”

Oh how he bleeds sympathy. He forgets himself. All mistakes are covered up and let slide by the writer. The blocks have been placed that when he falls, he falls far. We only got this far because of characters like me. Maybe the writer gave me that much to redeem my poor personality that they gave me. Apparently, speaking up for others doesn’t equate to him. He’d never of blinked twice at the villagers I stared at, only he was able to help. My plan blew up in my face, though that is how we found out about home made explosives.

The mountain now looms above our heads, clutching my self made bombs as soot falls on us. Grass turns to rock as we approach, the floor beneath us being uncomfortably warm. Unless we’re moving too fast, the writer could slow us down by blowing this up right now. Maybe that’s the twist, my brother is doomed to explode. Or he’ll live for another book which will assert a new attitude, capitalism may save him after all.

Somewhere deep inside a part of me pleads with this bomb to not work. For this mountain to be impenetrable or that moss or rain stops it from being blown to pieces. That deep part is where the pen goes when the writer finally remembers what I bring to the group. When you’ve had your true emotions, memories and desires taken from you, you quickly become detached. The writer wants me to want my brother to live but he is my brother by ink, our blood is written and our bond preempted. The only way I can work in my favor is by recognizing the flow moment. From what I’ve read and can recount, books like this quicken up the pace to get to the happy ending. When my brother fails the focus will shift. When stolen it’ll dive into what’s left of who I am to find the missing person, who my heart yearns for with no direction. It could be a mother, a friend, an animal or a lover. I don’t care once they fill the void the writer has given me.

The wall crumples and my heart is squashed by the pen. It’s thin as tree bark in comparison to the other walls, a convenient predisposed thought to place the bomb in the only weak spot in the mountain. Once again to the ease of our journey, it has a tunnel with aesthetic cave ambiance which leads us above the courtyard in which the god places themselves. The dripping water and slippery moss is old and reused, the pungent smell of death is new. I’ve plenty to condemn the writer for but they do have a flair for detail, even at the back of the line I can see carved statues peeking over the shoulders of my group. As we file closer together along the ledge, it’s noticeable that the base of the statues each have carved in an image that is a metaphor to our journey. Above the base is the statue of the figure that represents us. Of course it’s my statue to be damaged, I’ve lost my mouth or well my representation has.

“Caleigh, I’m well aware you don’t care for much but focus.” My brother waves the stone down the line at me. “This comes before you. Our people come before you.”

The same people you only helped when it supported your characterization as, ‘The Nice Guy’. A harsh and nauseating feeling rises in my throat. “We’re in this together. We’ll make you a king and father proud.” The words come from my mouth but they are not my own. None of what I’ve been doing has been for him ever since I learnt of this horrible situation. This flow time cannot come quicker. Taryn, my brothers friend, who is only relevant to the team as our muscle squeezes my shoulder. I can’t even shrug it off.

My brother barks commands and ends his plan with the usual good luck and belief rant. Luck won’t change the outcome, his plan is terrible but it’s not his plan. It’ll still work out, it’ll be written with enough thematic language that it’ll seem flawless.

Time seems to move in a blur but we’re in our assigned positions. A forced weight on my heart tangles my thoughts in the writers thoughts. The only idea that is my own is that the untold twist will doom my brother, whispers of excitement flood my ears. Anticipating the flow state makes my muscles celebrate, freedom to move and think for myself. What I do with my knowledge is completely up to myself.

My brother’s face gleams with sweat and gleeful pride. The writer must have all sorts running of self righteous thought paired with memories to blind the reader from what’s bound to happen. With a slow march, he edges closer and the mountain quivers with life. We met few beasts but many a monster, many a human on our way. My hand was forced to take their lives with a sickeningly relaxed mindset. By the jolts of rocks and deep cracks that form in the statues, there will be too many this time even for us. I suspect at the last moment we will fail, the world will be doomed to live under this god’s will the same way I’m doomed to live under the pen.

“Listen, we have come a long way. Yes, my father, this kingdoms ruler, took your stone but I believe you have plenty of kindness in your heart. A willingness to work with us not against us, let this stone be shared in our good will, put the past behind us.”

Pathetic, naive, foolish. They’re just a few words that spring to mind. This god has every right to work against us, my brother declares his underdevelopment with pride. The writer needs to break him now, he should’ve been broken a long time ago. This failure will drive their next book I suppose.

The god doesn’t snap in speech, he snaps in body. A fight ensues instantly and we fall into battle. My axe slices through the air and liberty splashes onto me.

The battle is far harsher than any before, flames shoot out of the statues and the ground cracks which makes islands to bob above the magma. The writer has pulled out all the stops for the perfect finale. It takes determination to gravitate away from the main group but specifically Karyn and my brother. The force of the writer is at its peak with them. As long as the orb absorbs them then time is on my side. The farther away I get the weaker the beasts are, out of sight out of mind becomes my new mantra. The god floats above us all, glowing with power that radiates off what they command. Still, time is found for a witty back and fourth between them and my brother. The weight of the gods words seem to hit home, he’s realized not everyone sees the world the way he does.

That stone is what started this, it’s what will finish this with or without my brother. There’s a chance against a god, they are just another character. The will of the writer overrides us all. Doomed by the plot, it’s what I’ve always known but I’ve never outgrown my anger for it. Damn it. Damn-…the writer is my answer. The writer wants their perfect ending, my brother wants to be king and I need to be fulfilled. Only one of us will get want we want tonight, only one of us can manage the fall out.

Resigned to fate, I charge towards the group. The writer resists my presence, I am unplanned and unnecessary right now. I’ll prove my worth. If the writer hates it then we’ll all be reversed back before this and my brother will fail as well as I.

The enemies get stronger to push away and my axe is lodged in one ugly beasts shoulder. It chuckles as skin reforms around the blade. With disgust, a tug of war game begins between us both. One wrong swing fires me right into the main duo. We tumble to the floor and Karyn takes the gem.

“We’ll hold them back! I believe in you, I still believe in good,” My brother screams as blood pours down his face.

Not good enough. This weight is crushing. I haul myself between the legs of the beast and steal the knife from his belt. I cannot tell if this desire is manifesting itself now after weeks of secretly wanting it or the writer has taken notice of me and wants this to be my desire, either way the knife is raised behind my head. My eyes lock as my whole body lurches forwards to follow through. A shocked and pained scream echoes in the chamber as every jaw drops. The blade hits its mark right in the back of the head. Blonde, short and sassy Karyn falls dropping the stone.

Even the pen hesitates but my moment is now. Sprinting for the stone, it feels like blood spurts from my toes with the impact. My nails break as I snatch the stone, dragging my fingers on the ground rather to stop and risk being held back. The pen is catching up on me, its will like a tsunami racing behind me. Skidding to a halt, the stone is shoved back into its rightful place.

It’s purple haze becomes violent and seeps into the land. My group are left speechless. The god hovers licking their lips with pleasure. Their feet land daintily next to my sobbing brother who is held back by Frynn. His voice is now hoarse from yelling all his curses, the whole world heard his renouncement of any blood ties to me.

“You really thought you’d win?” Finally, words that are my own.

My final snarky comment. I’ve proven myself right. The world doesn’t reverse or rebuild. This ending is final, my brother has failed. I am the new protagonist, my first demand is for my memories.