How To Survive A Novel

“It was hilarious.” Jake laughs. “She couldn’t see anything.”

“I got it all on video too.” Reed turns to me. “Did you see the video I sent you with Zoey?”

I drag my hands down my face. “I can’t do this. You guys are horrible people, you know that. I just cannot stand you.”

“Scott, what’s going on with you? You haven’t been the sa—”

“I’m going to stop you right there, Jake.” I tap the blue wristband on my wrist twice. Bright blue words pop up in front of me.

Are you sure you want to leave this story?

“Yes,” I answer.

My ‘friends’ watch in horror as my body vanishes into thin air, leaving their world behind. My body rearranges itself back in the void. I brace my eyes for the absurdly bright place I’ve come to call a home. To my surprise, Kai has some new items. The tall man is lying on a new all-black sofa he got from somewhere. A painful contrast to the endless white environment. A box of snacks, puzzles, games, and devices rests at his feet.

“Back so soon,” he says. “I thought you wanted a normal story. What are the odds a writer of slice-of-life stories will come by again?”

“I know,” I sigh. “But every time I get a good story, I end up being with terrible people, or I’m the villain. Which isn’t what I want. I just want to be an extra on the sidelines. Is that so much to ask?”

“I mean, you could always stay here. Look at me, I’m not in a story, and I’m having a great time.” Kai tosses me a bag of salt & vinegar chips. “Try some. It’s good.”

I plop down on the couch next to him, opening the bag. “How did you get these things anyway? Linda never gives me the things I ask for.”

“That's because you don't shower her with compliments. It’s amazing what kind words can get you.” He tells me. “A few praises there, and boom. Treats.”

“How does that even work? And where does she get this stuff from? How does she get it in here?”

Kai shrugs his shoulders, and a new selection of genres pops up before us. And as always, the list is read aloud by the robotic lady we call Linda.

New genre selection by author HappyFrog_234: Horror / Fantasy / Mystery / Romance.

I grab Kai’s arm, pointing at the third option. “Look! It’s a new genre. I haven’t seen a new genre in months. Could this be it? Maybe we can go in together?”

He rips my hand off his arm. “Peter, you’ve been in over thirty stories. This isn’t ‘the one.’ And I already told you I’m not going into a story. Every time I go in one, I’m always the main character. It’s always save these people, sacrifice yourself, and solve their problems. I’m so sick of living for everyone else.”

“You’re really going to stay here forever. Never be a part of something bigger. We’ve seen so many characters go into these stories and become series that are shared with millions of people. Don’t you want that? To have the whole world know you. Have a legacy to leave behind.”

“Not really,” he answers honestly. “Not anymore.”

“I’m going to the mystery story.” I tell him.

He nods. “Okay. Stay safe.”

I was hoping for more of a fight. Don’t go, Peter. Stay here, Peter. I’ll go with you. Of course, he wouldn’t care. We’ve only known each other for fifteen years. I snatch two more bags of chips from the box before making my choice. “Mystery by HappyFrog_234, please.”

Insertion into HappyFrog_ 234 Murder Mystery: The Fatal Flaw

My face drops as I hear the word murder. Before I can cancel the selection, I am inside a sleeping car on a train. It’s honestly quite nice. A neatly made bed in the corner. Beautiful dark, shiny wooden walls swirling with spiral patterns. Fuzzy carpet and complimentary snacks and water. And a fake candle light bulb next to the mirror.

Naturally, I go to check myself out. Each author describes my character differently. I wonder what this author sees me as. The first thing I notice is my beardless face. Not a single hair in sight. No mustache either.

“I can live with this,” I tell myself. “I’ll just grow it out as time passes.”

Other than that unpreferable preference, I look pretty good. Short black hair, light skin, and a good age. I have to be in my early to mid-twenties in this story. Not bad. Judging by my large blue overcoat and double golden buttons, I have to be working on this train as well. Which means I have a job. Things are looking good for me.

I’m not the detective, so I’m probably not the main character. This is great. Stable job. Maybe if I save enough, I can get my own house and settle down. Find a good partner, start a family. How nice. I skip on over to the door, peeking down the corridors. The coast is clear. All I have to do now is survive until we reach our next stop. Surely the detective would’ve found the killer by then.

I step outside, not knowing where to go. What exactly does a train service person do? That's another thing I dislike about this 'selection' system. It's not that I become a new character in a story, but I take the place of an already established character the author created. I've always wondered what happened to the characters I'm replacing. Do they have their own void to go back to? That's something to think about later.

I tap my wristband. “Linda, please activate autopilot mode when working.”

This setting cannot be undone until the task is completed. Are you sure you want to use it?

“Yes,” I say.

Autopilot activated. Task: Help accomplice by hiding poison without being caught.

“Wait. No, no, no, n—”

My mouth clams shut as the plot overrides my body. Against my will I hurry down the hall into the dining car. People chatter and eat as I greet each one with a smile. Until one man in the far corner calls me over. I can feel my smile fall as I get closer. He hands me a small bottle of what seems to be hand sanitizer.

“I appreciate all the work you do, Henry.” He tells me.

“Thank you,” I reply. “Anything else you need help with?” The man shakes his head, and I take my leave. I open the door to the next car, putting the suspicious bottle in my pocket.

Task complete: Poison is now hidden. Next task: Dispose of it. Would you like to continue?

“No!” I shout before it automatically chooses to go on. “Turn off autopilot.”

Autopilot is now deactivated. Beginning 5-minute cool down.

I let out a deep breath of relief. Why does this keep happening to me? Why can’t I be a good guy? Now, I have to wait 5 minutes before I can use the wristband. So much for my house and family. Well, I’m going to go eat. I turn back around into the dining car, eyeing the food at the snack bar. Some chips, croissants, candy, and sandwiches.

I snag a sandwich and some chips and take a seat. The train clacks along through a sea of lush green trees. It's a shame I can't stay. The weather here looks amazing. I wonder what the station is like. Probably fancy and rustic.

The car doors fly open. “Nobody move, I know who did it!”

Whispers erupt as a tall man in a ridiculous brown trench coat struts down the path. He goes straight to the guy I was speaking to, giving him a full deduction. He went on saying how he used the victim’s germophobic tendencies against him. The man doesn’t crack under the detective's pressure, asking for evidence.

“You want evidence.” The detective points right at me. “He has all the evidence I need.”

“Me, I don’t have anything to do with this. I just got here.” I tell him.

“Empty your pockets then,” he replies.

I reach into my pockets and instantly feel the bottle the shady guy gave me earlier. How did I forget that quickly? I tap my wristband to send me back home.

3 minutes remaining.

“Well,” the detective says. “Aren’t you going to comply?”

“You see, this is a big misunderstanding.” I say.

I stand up and bolt out the door. The detective rushes after me as I frantically tap my wrist. This guy is fast. Despite completely blindsiding him with my daring escape, he’s nearly right behind me. There’s this glint in his eyes that makes me worry about what will happen when he catches me. What if he’s one of those ‘let’s throw him off the train’ detectives? Why is he even chasing me? The real killer is probably getting away as we speak.

“Linda, please,” I cry out. “I don’t want to die.”

Death is unlikely in this scenario. I have seen the script given by HappyFrog_234. Death is not imminent for the selected character. Severe injury will occur. None resulting in death.

“Seve—”

My head bangs into something ahead, knocking me right off my feet. I immediately cradle my forehead, only increasing the aching pain. My body curls up instinctively. A hand yanks me back. The detective is saying something, but it takes too much energy to listen. Black holes ripple into my vision, dancing and swimming in the sky. A wave of nausea hits me. My stomach twists and cramps, urging me to expel what little food I managed to eat.

Cool down is now completed. Do you have any requests?

I fight to push down the acid rising to my mouth. “E…Exit. S-Story.”

Are you sure?

“Yes,” I choke.

Linda graciously teleports me back to the void. The throbbing pain in my head slowly subsides. I lean up, seeing Kai with another box of treats.

“Are you going for a new record?" he asks with a mouthful of food. "Victim?"

“Accomplice.” I reply.

“That sucks.”

I press my knees to my chest, lying on the cold floor. Twenty-five years, and I still can’t find a story. With every author I feel this pit in my stomach fester. The selections will only get worse as time passes. All the better ones usually go to younger characters. I hug myself tighter. My heart beats faster and faster. I screw my eyes shut, trying to ignore the returning migraine creeping up on me.

The voices keep telling me to accept the worlds where I'm in the wrong. That this is who I am supposed to be. To roll over and just become something. Anything, even if it's something bad.

“Are you okay over there?” Kai asks.

Incoming character, please refrain from sudden movement.

I keep my head down. Why should I look up? Another character getting another place where they belong and creating something beautiful. While I am left behind.

“Where am I?” The new guy gasps. “What is this?”

“Hello and welcome to the void,” Kai says. “I know you’re probably shocked, but don’t worry. You won’t be here long. Just know you’re a figment of someone’s imagination. And pretty soon, you’ll be in a book and get whisked away into a world of your choosing.”

“T-That doesn’t make any sense.” He responds. “This is all a dream, right? Yeah, a weird dream.”

“Denial is the first step.” Kai tells him.

New genre selection by author NEED2g0_fast: Fantasy / Sci-fi / Romance / Mystery / Thriller / Comedy / Fiction / Superhero

His voice shakes as he says, “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Choose comedy, trust me,” Kai says.

Auto-select will be activated if a genre isn’t selected. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6.

“Superhero!” He says quickly.

Insertion into NEED2g0_fast Superhero fiction: The Final Dynasty

The room goes quiet and I can only assume he's off in his new story.

Kai kisses his teeth. “No one ever listens to me. Do you think he’ll be back?”

“The only people who ever come back are us.” I tell him.

He pokes the back of my head.

“Please stop, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

“That’s not me,” Kai says.

I whip my head around. A woman looms over me. I scurry back, and she rolls her eyes.

Unauthorized personnel. Authors are not allowed in character spaces.

“Zip it, Linda.” She says.

“You’re an author,” I say.

The short lady is wearing a black oversized hoodie and black sweatpants. Dark circles rest under her hazel eyes. Big round glasses sit on the edge of her nose. A light brown piece of cloth wraps around her head, matching her skin. Her back hunches over slightly as she stares at us.

“She looks real tired,” Kai notes. “Definitely an author.”

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” She says.

“Yes, I do,” Kai swiftly answers. “You also wrote me this way, so you can’t be mad.”

“Oh my goodness. This is amazing.” I grab Kai, shaking him back and forth. “This is amazing! Everything can change. You can change everything.”

“Slow down.” She tells me. “I’m a prompt creator, not an author. Authors take my prompts or characters and make their own stories from them. I don’t control what the story will be or what roles you’ll play.”

My shoulders drop. “Oh, okay. I guess I got excited over nothing.”

“Why are you here?” Kai wonders.

Her face softens. “Listen, you guys are my very first prompts I posted. You have a special place in my heart. And it’s clear none of these stories make you happy, and neither does staying here.”

“What are you saying?” I ask her.

Kai raises his hand. “I just want to say, personally, I enjoy being here in the void. So, if something is about to happen, please don’t involve me.”

The prompt lady and I both glare at him. He zips his mouth, backing up. So, I guess this is our author. Even if she doesn’t consider herself one. Now that I’m standing up, she’s quite short. I wonder what she had planned for me? Was I always a villain in her eyes? What was the prompt that made me? So many questions I’d never thought I would be able to ask, and yet I can’t bring myself to speak.

“I came here to start from scratch with you two. Maybe then, you have a better chance of getting picked up.” She confesses. “You both mean a lot to me, and I want to see you in your own stories.”

For the first time in a long time, I see Kai’s face fall. “You’re going to rewrite us.”

“It’s for the best.” She says. “Everyone will be happier.”

“N-No. No.” His breathing quickens as he towers over her. “You can’t do that. There’s got to be a different way to do this. I could just stay here, right?”

“Not forever. I want you to—”

“What if you wrote the story?” I suggest.

“Me,” she points to herself. “I’m not an author. I’ve never written a full story before.”

“What if we helped write it? Everyone knows the best stories are written by the characters themselves.” I tell her.

Kai scoots beside me, harshly whispering, “What are you doing?”

“Saving our lives,” I whisper back. “This is a chance to have a story of our own. A nice, calm, and simple story.”

He glances back at his stash of random foods. “I hope you know what you’re doing. And there better be good snacks in this story.”

“You know I can hear you both, right?” She says, crossing her arms.

“Is that a no?” I ask her.

The shorter lady pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She paces back and forth, muttering something under her breath. A series of no’s leave her mouth, each one angrier than the last. Kai wraps his arms around me. He thanks me for my company and hopes we meet again.

“Alright!” She screams, catching us both off guard. “I cannot believe I am doing this, but you guys are special to me. This is going to destroy my sleeping schedule. I hope you’re both happy.”

“Seriously,” I say, feeling my heart racing for a completely different reason than before. “Actually. Yes! Yes! Thank you!”

Kai is bouncing up and down, pumping his fists. The prompter, now a turned author, stands there, letting us enjoy the moment. A world with millions of possibilities is now open. I don’t have to be bound to a character of someone else’s choosing. I can create my own path and see where this new world takes me. What will I do? What will I be? Who will I meet? A sense of curiosity and exhilaration that long since vanished washes over me yet again.

“We’re going to need a name for this story.” She tells us. “For selection purposes.”

“How about Survival?” Kai says.

“No, that makes it sound like a thriller or something. From what I understand, you guys want a slow, normal fiction story.” She gently taps her chin. “Something lifey. Is that a word? Lifey? Anyway, something more slice-of-life sounding.”

“How about how to survive a novel?” I propose. “That is what we’re trying to do, and I think it has a nice ring to it.”

“Mine is better,” Kai says.

“I’ll take it.” She says. “Linda, please create a slice-of-life genre selection under my name.”

New genre selection by author Asma Saleema: Slice of life

“What do you say? Are you two ready to make a story?”

Kai and I look at each other and smile. “Slice of Life by Asma Saleema.”

Insertion into Asma Saleema’s Slice of Life: How To Survive A Novel.

I watch the white void disappear for the last time as Kai and I enter our very own story.