Authors
Authors
Authors had become smart. Very smart. Ever since JK Rowling wrote her series that spawned the most terrifying man of all time, everyone had taken to killing off the good characters rather than the villains.
When fictional characters die, they become real. They forget almost all of their memories, no one knows it is them, but they have one memory from their fictional life.
That one memory can change everything.
For example, Moriarty from Sherlock Holmes. He spawned with his memory being the name Holmes. Growing up he lived normally, his name not even being James Moriarty, but he searched for the name Holmes, and one day he found the books, reading them and feeling inspired by the evil Professor.
That boy was behind several of the most evil and thought out crimes. The Chicago Tylenol poisonings of 1982, a string of unsolved murders across the United Kingdom, and several acts of terrorism he was hired perform.
He eventually commit suicide, no one being sure why.
The worst of all time was a man called Sebastian Moss. He came back in 1972. He was so dangerous after he figured out who he was, and he had to be executed. He was born remembering one thing.
He could be invincible by killing.
Someone believing they could live forever leads them to do terrible, terrible things. Like eating cereal and milk separately.
Or being the cause of 911.
He was only a teenager when he committed his first murder, he drowned a ten year old boy for being black. He was a monster.
Later he would go on to kill many people of minority only to laugh when he got caught. When he was sentenced to execution, he laughed, telling them he would live forever.
Then he fried to a cinder on the electric chair, even if he lived through it, he would not have been a person anymore. Just a shell or body without life or soul.
That boy was Voldemort.
And that was why the world was banned from killing off the villains, the ones so evil that they could change history.
Marvin Feldman was an author writing about the AIDs crisis. He spent years slaving over his book, creating beautifully written characters who could be real people.
But in the process he fell in love with one of them. It sounded cliche when he said it out loud, but he wanted someone so much like the character Whizzer Brown.
So he realised he could.
So he wrote the character of Whizzer to die from the Disease.
The issue is, the author has no way of choosing the memory the character is reborn with. Or the time period, so Marvin had no way of finding the love of his life.
So instead he loved each day as it came, trying to find him.
And then, one day, he decided to give up, beginning his new novel. Heartbroken.
He would go to cafes to write, going at opening time and getting lost in his work not leaving until he was kicked out.
“Excuse me sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave unless you’re ordering something else.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry…” he looked up to see a man who was so perfect he did not know whether he wanted him to smile at him, or to fuck him right there over the table. His mouth went dry as he stared at him, trying to memorise his face, for reasons unknown to him.
The man, who’s name tag read Sam, cocked his head at Marvin, a ghost of a smile trailing over his lips. “I’m sorry, but do I recognise you from somewhere?”
“I’m not sure, do you read?” Marvin asked, swallowing his nerves, since when did he get nervous?
“Yes, quite a lot.”
“Ummm, I’m an author I wrote Falsettos, you probably haven’t heard of it.” Marvin replied.
Suddenly a look of utter recognition and happiness crossed over Sam’s face. He pulled Marvin up, his arms around his waist, and kissed him like it was his last day on earth.
“Whizzer?”
“Marvin!”