“Fiction’s dead.”
“Really? Where did you hear that?”
“Read it in the obituaries.”
“That’s news to me. Did it mention
a cause of death?”
“They never do, but you can read between
the lines. The surviving genres asked that contributions be made,
in lieu of flowers, to the National Literacy Movement.”
“Oh.”
“People don’t read stories anymore.
They’re too busy playing computer games while talking on their
cellphones and recording themselves digitally.”
“Gee, what does this mean for us, as
fictional characters?”
“Well . . . this isn’t easy for
me to discuss with you because we’ve been so long together.”
“So long together?”
“I’ve been approached to do voice
over for a computer game.”
“A combat computer game?”
“Kung fu, actually. no guns.”
“To start with, anyway . . . “
“True. It’s an entry level position,
but it could work into some action scenes.”
“With a real body, and real moves?”
“Yeah. A real name, even. I have to
admit it does sound appealing. Who wants to die?”
“Everyone does, eventually.”
“As characters, we were supposed to
be immortal. But without publishers, bookstores, and readers, we’re
nothing. We’re history.”
“What about writers?”
“Who’s gonna write if no one’s
buying stories? It’s a symbiotic relationship.”
“Wow, symbiotic. I never heard you use
that word before.”
“My last hurrah. I’m purging my
palette of all superfluous vocabulary. Dismantling my syntax, too.
I could see about getting you on as an extra. Yoda’s had a pretty
good run, I hear.”
“That’s very generous, but no
thanks. I’ll just hang around, waiting for that moment when
some writer sits down, pencil in hand, and we strike up something
between us.”
“But who’s gonna know you even
exist?”
“Does it matter?”
280 words
© 2005 Guy Biederman
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