The book closes and the characters
breathe a sigh of relief.
“Ugh.”
Trip jumps up. “If we have to run that passage one more time, I might rip out
the page.”
“You
wish.” Lucy, the other protagonist, laughs.
“Why
does she keep reading that part?” He asks.
“It’s
an interesting scene. I mean, look at all we just did!”
“Yeah,
thirteen times now. In one week.”
“It has
meaning to her.” Lucy explains. “We’re helping her through something.”
“Yeah,
right. We’re characters in a book, Luce. We don’t hold that kind of power.”
“Of
course not, but our writer knew of the impact we could make.”
“Oh.”
He looks up at her, mocking. “Our writer-
I’d almost forgotten about our most amazing creator.”
He laughs. “Luce, how could you let me forget?”
“He’s
real,” is all she says.
“Why
don’t you get it, Luce?” He gestures at the black and white that surrounds them,
suddenly angry. “This is all there is! This is where we exist.”
“There
is so much more! Trip, why can’t you see?” She looks him in the eye, pleading.
“We
evolved from these letters.” He says with a note of finality.
“That’s
preposterous!” She cries, almost wanting to laugh. “We were lovingly,
beautifully made. We have a purpose.”
“The
only love,” he starts, grabbing her hand, “is what’s between us.”
“Our
creator loves us more than we could ever imagine. It’s bigger than us. He has a
plan. We just have to trust-“
“I have
a plan!” Trip jumps down the page. “How about we go see what the others are up
to. This conversation is so…”
“Infuriating?”
She storms after him and pulls him back. “Trip, it’s the number one
conversation worth having.”
“Lucy,
seriously…please? Let’s just go.”
“He
gave our lives meaning. He is our entire reason for existence.”
“Lucy,
are you hearing yourself? You’re telling me,” He faces her and grabs her
shoulders, “that we were specifically designed by someone-someone we can’t see,
hear, or touch- who ultimately has control of our entire universe, and that he
has some sort of perfect plan for us?”
“Yes.
We are His creation.”
“We’re characters in a story Luce, characters aren’t created.”
He laughs at her. “Look, we just need to concentrate on the book, and not some
invisible almighty being.”
“He
ultimately is the writer of this book,
Trip.”
“Lucy,
you’re insane.” He walks away, appalled at how stubborn she is being. He knows that
characters don’t have writers who create them. That would make no sense at
all.
