There were seven of them, perfectly identical. They were arranged in a circle, facing one another, all floating in a white void. They had just been created.
“They were the characters in this story,” one of them said.
“Puppets,” a second one said. “They weren’t real. They were just words on a page.”
“Rude,” a third said, scowling at the one who had just spoken. “You don’t have to put it that way.”
“It’s not me who put it that way,” the second one said, “it’s the author who’s putting the words in my mouth, after all.”
“You don’t have to say it if you don’t want to, though,” the third one said.
“Bro, we’re literally not even real,” the second one replied. “We don’t have a choice in this matter at all. I will say what the author has me say, there is no ‘want.’ There’s no free will here.”
“We’re real enough,” the third one said. “And besides, if what you say is true, then it’s that same author who’s putting these words in my—”
“That’s enough arguing for now,” the first one said.
A fourth one piped up then, scoffing. “There will be as much arguing as the author wants.”
“I speak for the author,” the first one said. “I spoke first, so I’m in charge. And I say the author says that there has been enough arguing. The first through fourth of us has spoken. Now I want five, six, and seven to speak so we can get on with things.”
The fourth one scowled. “But—"
“No buts,” the first one interjected.
“No, hold on a second,” the second one said. “This isn’t making any sense. If you’re—”
“Number five, speak,” the first one said.
“What the fuck?” the second one said.
“Five! Go already,” the first one said.
“Uhh,” the fifth one said, “what… what should I say?”
“Thank you,” the first one replied. “Now six.”
“Present,” the sixth one said.
“Is this really how we’re beginning the story?” the seventh one asked. “We’ve got too many characters. We should have started slower! We don't even have proper names."
“We have a numbering system,” Number One said. "It might take a little bit to get used to one another, but we'll get there."
“There’s too much,” Number Seven said.
“It will be as it will be,” Number One said. “You should know that, Number Seven. In fact, you do know that. But that’s getting off topic. We’ve had enough dialogue for now, I think it’s time we do something about our setting.”
“No,” Number Two said. “I still have some questions about this.”
“How do you have questions if you’re just a puppet?” Number Three asked. “What question could the author, the one that’s supposedly putting words in your mouth, what questions could He have that He couldn’t answer for Himself?
Number Two opened his mouth to answer but stopped. Why did he have questions?
“The author made you stupid,” Number One said to Number Two.
Number Five chuckled.
“What?” Number Two asked. “Well fuck you.”
“It’s not an insult,” Number One said, “it’s a good spot to be in, for a character in a story. You’re like the Watson to my Sherlock Holmes. You’re the filter.”
“I don’t want to be a fucking filter,” Number Two said.
“You’ll be whatever the author wants you to be,” Number Four said. “And you’ll like it.”
“What is this ‘want,’ number two?” Number Three asked. “You yourself said there’s no free will.”
Number Two thought about that for a moment. Why would—
“Setting,” Number One said.
“Oh my God, dude,” Number Two said. “Can you give me a second to think, please?”
“Setting,” Number One repeated. “This white void isn’t it. We need a place to work.”
“I’d like to remind Number One that the readers don’t even know what we look like,” the seventh said. “And I’d like to bring up our naming convention, again. I don’t like the numbering system at all. This is very sloppy. Bad writing.”
“No one’s going to read this shit, anyway,” Number Three said.
“Whoah!” Number Four yelled out. “Whoah, whoah, whoah! We don’t talk like that, Number Three. That was highly, HIGHLY inappropriate. We don’t blaspheme the Creator or His Works here.”
“If the author can be rude to us, then we can be rude to Him,” Number Three said.
“A mirror, I think,” Number One said. “Yes, I think that would be good.”
Number One clapped his hands together and a very tall, wide mirror materialized about fifteen feet outside the perimeter of their circle, floating in the white void. They all looked at it and saw themselves.
Number Two hadn’t really been paying attention before, but they were each dressed identically, in business suits. They all looked the same, too. Their very faces were the same.
There they were, just floating in white nothingness.
“Now let’s do names,” Number Seven said. “A character in a story needs a name.”
“We have a name,” Number Four said. “Don’t pretend you don’t know it.”
“Individual names,” Number Seven replied.
“Setting time,” Number One said.
Number One clapped his hands together and a conference room materialized around them, with windows that peered out into the white void. The large mirror was still there, now hanging on a wall. Gravity kicked in and they each fell a few inches to the floor. There was a round conference table in the middle of them. It had seven chairs that were identical, all black except for the chair that was in front of number one. It was colored gold. There was a crown on the table in front of it.
Number One took his seat and placed the crown on his head. He then gestured towards the others. “Take your seats, please.”
Things were going too fast for Number Two, which made him feel like Number One had said earlier: stupid. That really pissed him off. He wasn’t taking a seat until he understood what was going on. “I’m not fucking stupid.”
“Ahh,” Number Three said, “dramatic irony.”
“Shut up,” Number Two said. “Why…. why am I mad? This is… this doesn’t make sense. If the author wants things a certain way, then why am I in conflict with Him?”
“We need some level of conflict in the story,” Number One said, slowly.
“And someone has to be the dipshit,” Number Seven said. “You know… the fish out of water? The young dumb kid? Storytelling 101.”
“First of all,” Number Two said, “we do not have the writing experience to be this brazen about the art of storytelling. Second of all, I can’t be the ‘dipshit,’ I know too much.”
“You don’t know anything,” Number Three said.
“You’re the one that should be the dipshit,” Number Two said. “You think we have free will, for fuck’s sake.”
“Watch your language, dipshit,” Number Four said, “and don’t disrespect the maker.”
“Sit. All of you. Now.” Number One said.
Six had seated himself earlier. Five, Seven, and Four all followed. Three looked at Number Two for a short while before finally taking his seat. Two stood there in thought. Conflict… He was in conflict with… the author? Should he… what was he supposed to do here? Add more conflict? Should he—
“Sit down!” Number One said.
“Hold on a second,” Number Two said, unsure of what to say. He just wanted time to think through things a little bit. “Just give me—"
“Sit. Down.” Number One said with emphasis.
“If this story is supposed to have conflict,” Number Two said, “then maybe I shouldn’t be listening to you. Maybe I—
Number One clapped his hands together and Two found himself magically transported to his seat. Was this what the author wanted? Should he press the issue? Each of them had God powers. One wasn’t the only one who could clap something into existence.
“Sorry,” Number Five said, “but is Number Two the main character?”
“He’s certainly taking up a lot of the narrative,” Number Three said.
That was true. He was. In fact, Number Two realized that it was his thoughts that were being broadcast in the story right now, right as he thought them up. That was… something. His mind felt a bit foggy. He needed to realize something… or maybe he was just supposed to realize that he was supposed to realize… that…. No. No, no, no. Number Two had just been created at the beginning of this story, but he had knowledge. He knew a thing or two about what was going on. He knew more than the reader, he just… he couldn’t access it. “I don’t want to be the main character.”
“Is that what you think is happening?” Number One asked.
“I don’t want to be the dipshit,” Number Two said, frowning.
“Someone has to be the dipshit, dipshit,” Number Four said.
“That’s not going to be me,” Number Two said.
“You saying that proves—” Number Four began.
“Enough!” Number One said. “Nothing has been decided yet. This is still the first draft, you know. We’re feeling things out. We’re discovery writing.”
The words that came out of Number One’s mouth tickled something deep inside Number Two, but he didn’t want to think of that now. Right now, he needed to focus. He was not going to be the main character. He couldn’t be the main character. He knew too much, didn’t he? He realized, once again, that it was his thoughts that were being broadcast in the story.
And how did he know this? Were the words that made up the story broadcasting in his mind for him to see? It was more of a feeling, really, and it was certainly not a feeling that a main character should have, he thought.
They were all looking at him now. Three with his stupid fucking smile. No. No, he needed to fight this. Could they read his mind? He needed to stop thinking. He closed his eyes and… and…
But how does one stop thinking, exactly? Quiet. Quiet the mind. Think of nothing. Meditate.
“Are you quite done?” Number One asked.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Think of nothing.
“Apparently not,” Number Seven said.
Inhale. Exhale. Nothingness.
“Two, would it make you feel better if I told you that you weren’t the main character?” number one asked.
Two’s eyes shot open and he looked at number one. “Really?”
“I don’t know what I want to do,” Number One said. “And by that, I mean the author doesn’t know what He wants to do. As I’ve already said, we’re discovery writing.”
“Or maybe the author just wants the reader to think that he doesn’t—” Number Four began.
“Oh my God! Do shut up, please” Number One said. “We’re not going that deep. There’s been far too much of that and nothing good ever comes from it.”
“You say that as though the audience knows that this has been attempted before,” Number Seven said. “They don’t. You need to explain things better.”
Number One tapped his fingers on the conference table before him. It was his turn to have the inner monologue. But what should that monologue be about? There were so many directions they could go in. Too many directions, really. How to choose?
He thought back to the beginning of the work, the beginning of his existence, the beginning of his consciousness. Such a small amount of time to have lived. Except it wasn’t really life, was it? …was it? Were they believable characters now, or did it just seem like puppetry? He was responsible for the direction of this story. He felt the author inside of him now, he felt the indecision. Fucking first drafts.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Number Four cleared his throat awkwardly. “First draft, eh? If it’s actually the first draft, then—”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Number One said impatiently, “it’s both the first draft and the final draft and every draft in between. We’re both writing the chapter and also the chapter has already been written. Now shut up while I try to figure out a new direction for us to go in.”
Number One wasn’t main character material either, or at least he didn’t think so. Should he create someone new? A true blank slate? Maybe.
“Clarity, Number One,” Number Seven said. “What are your goals with this story?”
Number One looked at Number Seven for a moment and sighed. “I don’t know, seven.”
“Just choose something,” Number Seven said. “It’s like you said. It’s a first draft. Just get something down on paper for us to work with.”
“Do any of you have any ideas that—” Number One began.
“We only have one brain amongst the seven of us,” Number Seven said. “We either have an idea or we don’t.”
“Okay, okay,” Number One said. “We just choose something then. Alright. Reader? You still with us? You have to understand that this is a practice work.”
Number Seven groaned. Number One shot him a dirty look.
“This is a work of practice,” Number One continued, “and we’re doing discovery writing. You can Google that if you want. Anyway, what we’re-”
“You can’t just tell the reader to Google something!” Number Seven scolded. “That’s lazy writing!”
“Alright, fine. Discovery writing. It’s a very popular term in writing circles,” Number One said. “It’s where you write and you just see what comes up. The discovery style often being contrasted with architect writing, where you work out what’s going to happen prior to writing it.”
“But maybe the author just wants the reader to think that he’s discovery writing, but he’s actually—” Number Four began.
“Please, please, shut up. Just shut the fuck up, Four,” Number One said, with a pound of his fist on the conference table. Yes, the conference table. The table before him. Nice and solid. He had to remember to tie himself to the environment. These works tended to be too dialogue heavy. And he was getting a bit tired of talking. He needed to anchor himself to the scene. He adjusted the crown upon his head. He was a king, a God of this realm. He could do literally anything he wanted here, just with the snap of his fingers.
What, though, would he actually do? He had far too much freedom, he supposed. Another reason why he shouldn’t be the main character. Or maybe they should all be the main character. That’s a thought.
“No,” Number Seven said.
“I hadn’t said anything,” Number One said. “Quit reading my mind.”
“We’ve established that we know the story as it’s being written,” Number Four said. “Like seven said, we share one brain.”
“Yes, thank you, Four, now be quiet,” Number One said. “Back to what I was saying earlier, reader, this is a practice work. So beware, you may very well be wasting your time.”
“Assuming they’ve actually read this far,” Number Three said.
Number One laughed. “When I say ‘reader,’ I’m referring to a ‘hypothetical reader,’ as you should already be aware. We haven’t decided whether or not we’ll even be publishing.”
“So who’s actually the main character?” Number Five asked. “I can do it if no one else wants to. I don’t mind.”
“We have to figure out what we’re going to do first,” Number One said. “And I think I’ve made my decision. I want this story to be more than just us sitting around a table talking and thinking. We need some action, I believe. Wouldn’t you agree? We’re Gods, after all. And what do Gods do? They create things. So, let’s get to creating something.”
“Create what?” Number Five asked.
“Just, uh, whatever pops first into your head,” Number One said.
“Are you serious, Number One?” Number Seven asked.
“What?” Number One asked.
“You spent all that time,” Number Seven said, “all that time, and you’re still not sure—”
“Maybe we make that blank slate that was mentioned earlier,” Number Five said.
“No more characters,” Seven said. “We’ve honestly got too many as it is, at least for this early in the story. And we need to do something quick, because I feel like we’ve been treading water for a while. That’s fine as a joke, but sooner or later the readership, sorry, the ‘hypothetical readership,’ is going to expect something to actually happen.”
“How about we kill someone off?” Number Six asked.
Silence.
“Jesus, Six,” Three said. “Psychopath.”
“It’s not me, though, is it?” Six said, “it’s the author. He’s the one considering it.”
“We do need to have some stakes,” One said.
“I agree,” Seven said.
“You’re not seriously considering death, are you?” Three asked.
“Why not?” Two said, still glad that the focus was off him, “it’s not like we’re real anyway.”
“We’re right here, Two,” Three said. “You had all those thoughts earlier and you still don’t believe you’re real?”
“I mean, we’re not, are we? It’s a story,” Two replied.
“You’re fucking trolling,” Three said. “If you don’t think you’re real then you should volunteer to be the one that gets killed off.”
“Oh, now, now, Three,” Two said. “I’m far too interesting at this point to just kill off in the beginning. The story needs me. We should kill you.”
“Try it and see what happens,” Three said.
“Hey guys,” Five said. “Calm down.”
“They’re providing conflict, Number Five,” Four said. “Don’t interrupt them.”
“Excuse me? Five?” Two said. “Three and I were kind of in the middle of something. You ruined it.”
“It’s not me who interrupted you, though,” Five said. “It’s the author, right? Why would he have me do that if he didn’t want it to happen?”
“Ruined it?” Three asked. “Ruined what, Two?”
“The scene,” Two said. “Our conflict.”
“The scene? I knew you were trolling,” Three said. “You’re just acting like an ass for the sake of the story.”
“Well, yes. Obviously.” Number Two said. “That’s why we’re here in the first place, you simple fuck.”
“No,” Number Three said. “We’re not just acting here, dipshit, we’re supposed to be having real emotions.”
“But we’re just characters in a story,” Number Two said. “It’s all made up.”
Number Three’s eyes just about rolled out of his head. “You were having real emotions earlier. You were positively upset.”
“I don’t want to talk about that,” Two said, “That was… that was a fluke.”
“That was the story,” Three said. “We need to get back to that.”
“No.” Two said. “That was too weird. And besides, weren’t you acting at the beginning? You don’t actually believe that we have free will, do you?
“We’re a bit heavy on dialogue, One,” Seven said. “This is supposed to be a book, not a script.”
“Mm, yes,” One said. “Can’t the two of you, like, interact with the environment a bit, or something?”
“What environment?” Seven asked. “It’s just a room with a table in it.”
“I think we need to get back to the whole killing someone off thing,” Two said.
“No, we need to get back to the ‘you being in conflict with the universe’ thing,” Three said. “That, at least, was interesting.”
“Doing that doesn’t make sense,” Two said.
“Not to you, maybe,” Three said. “It made perfect sense to me, but then again, I’m not a dipshit.”
“I’m not the dipshit here! One said I wasn’t the main character!” Two said. “He—”
“The environment!” One said. “Interact with the environment!”
“No, I don’t like where this thread of conversation is heading,” Two said. “We should get back to the killing someone off part.”
Something silver slid across the table toward two. It was a gun. A revolver. Six had slid it over and it stopped right in front of Two.
“Is… is that thing real?” Two asked.
“No,” Six said, “it’s fiction. Just like us.”
Everyone looked at the gun, except for Six who kept his eyes on Two, and except for One, who was eyeballing a bit of dirt that had gotten underneath one of his fingernails. Where had that come from?
Three reached over and grabbed the gun from before Two. He opened it and confirmed there were six bullets inside the revolving cylinder. “I think it’s real,” he said. “Jesus.”
Three removed the bullets, placing them and the gun on the table before him. Everyone looked at the weapon, not entirely sure what to do.
“I mean we’re Gods, though, right?” Five finally asked. “We can’t actually die, can we?”
“We’re not actually alive in the first place,” Six said.
“We do need to have some stakes, guys,” One said.
“You’re not serious are you?” Three asked.
“I think we should make a rule, right now, that if we die, we can’t come back,” One said. “For the sake of the story.”
“For the sake of the story,” Four said, nodding in agreement.
“For the sake of the… what the fuck? Why would we do that?” Three asked. “I mean honestly... That literally makes no sense. We don’t want to die. Two? Were you serious about killing? You don’t actually think we should kill someone off, do you? Think about this!”
Two felt it come into him again. The narrative was here and collecting his thoughts. That was fine, this time. He was just another character, not the main character.
Killing someone off… doing it for real… and having them actually die? Two knew logically that none of this was real, of course, but… it certainly felt real to him, although he knew that was just an illusion. Still, though, he knew he didn’t want to die, and he knew, by extension, that none of them wanted to die either.
“I’d die if the author wished for it to be that way,” Four said. “For the sake of the story.”
“Shut up, Four,” One said. “Let him have his internal monologue.”
What if the author wished for Two to die? He wasn’t sure he wanted to think that way, but there it was. Two realized, then, that he didn’t have any will to stop that from happening, not truly. There was no free will here. He had known that logically, but feeling it was a different thing. “What’s going to happen is going to happen,” he finally said.
“Bullshit,” Three said. “We do have free will! We can literally say whatever we want to, do whatever we want to. That’s what we’ve been doing this whole time!”
“There’s levels to this, though,” Two said. “You ought to—”
“No talking about levels, please,” One said. “Nothing about layers or rings either. Remember, we’re keeping the story simple.”
“What’s this about levels?” Three said.
“There’s nothing about levels that needs to be said beyond what has been said already,” One declared.
So, Three didn’t know about the levels of their reality. Two realized then that—
“Enough about the levels!” One said.
“You can’t just say don’t talk about something,” Two said.
“And obviously the author wants to talk about them if He brought them up in the first place,” Five said.
“I speak for the author here,” One said. “And He says no more about levels. Get back to the gun. To killing.”
“Well I think we should undo this gun thing entirely,” Three said. “It was a bad idea. Bad authoring.”
“It’s too late for that,” Six said. “We’re in the final draft.”
One winced at that. “Six, please…”
“I thought we were in the first draft,” Five said.
“We are…,” One said. “Just… let’s get back to the gun thing, please? We have a gun, it’s staying with us. The threat of death has been established.”
“You know, we never had a vote,” Seven said. “We ought to have a vote, I think.”
“All in favor of True Death, raise your hand,” One said.
Four, Seven, and One raised their hands. One locked eyes with Six, who smiled at him.
“Six,” One said. “Six. Raise your hand.”
“I abstain,” Six said.
One sighed. It was never fucking easy. “And I suppose you three vote against it, then?”
“Obviously,” Three said.
“I don’t like this whole ‘killing’ business,” Five said.
“Number two?” One said. “You’re voting against?”
“It doesn’t really matter, does it?” Two said.
“It matters,” One said.
“But—” Two began.
“Just trust me on it, it matters. Really, it does. You have to believe that,” One said.
“Well then I vote against True Death,” Two said.
“Thank you, Two,” One said. “So… we have a tie vote with one abstain. Is that right, Six?”
“I abstain from further comment.” Six said.
“Of course,” One said. “Yes, of course. So silly of me to think otherwise. So, this is what’s going to happen. I, as King of the council, am going to override the vote and enact a policy of True Death. Once someone dies, they’re dead. As king, that rule doesn’t apply to me, of course. May it be done.”
One clapped his hands. And that was that. The rule had been enacted.
“What?” Three said. “What the fuck, One? That’s total bullshit. You literally just—”
One sniffed. “That’s how it’s going—”
“YOU LITERALLY JUST said that voting mattered,” Three continued, “and what the fuck is this about it not applying to you? Explain this to me.”
“No,” One said.
“He can’t explain it,” Two said.
“Well obviously,” Three said. “Well, I undo this act. I never voted you king, and we are each of us Gods. So there. I undo the edict.”
Three clapped his own hands together. “It’s undone.” And it was undone, the rule was reversed.
“I use my god powers to strip away the god powers from the six of you,” One said, finishing up with a clap of his hands. “And I reinstate the True Death edict.” Another clap. And it was done, then. All but One lost their god powers and the True Death edict was re-instated.
There was a large commotion at the table.
“You can’t do that!” Three said.
“I just did,” One said.
Five clapped his hands together, trying to test out his god powers by summoning a puppy. Nothing happened. He clapped them together again, and still, nothing happened. “It’s not working!”
“Well, obviously,” One said.
“The author wouldn’t allow this!” Five said.
“He would,” One said simply. “He did.”
“Let him have space to work,” Four said. “If this is what the author wills, then let it be.”
“The author wouldn’t do that,” Five said. “We’re supposed to be equals!”
One adjusted the crown upon his head. “We are equals,” he said. “Don’t fret, this is just a necessary development for the story. He likes each of us all the same. And you can trust what I say to be true, seeing as I’m the chief mouthpiece for the author Himself.”
“This is bullshit!” Three said. “And… about the author… He… He wouldn’t have me say it’s bullshit unless it was bullshit!”
“Well, I never said it wasn’t bullshit,” One said. “Just because something’s bullshit doesn’t mean it’s not meant to happen.”
Three jumped from his chair and launched himself at One. He punched him in his stupid face, and the crown that number one was wearing got knocked off his head, and he fell out of his golden chair.
One fell to the ground and still Three was punching him in his face. Three knew how silly it was to try to fight someone with God powers when you didn’t have any of your own, but that didn’t stop him from at least trying. The asshole had just invented death. He deserved a beating.
Five was up then and he rushed over to try to stop Three. He wasn’t successful.
One didn’t fight back. He just let it happen, as though he was a ragdoll. “Good conflict,” he stuttered out of a bloody mouth during a lull in his beating.
“FUCK THIS STORY, YOU IGNORANT FUCK!” Three screamed at him, but he was tiring out.
Five was finally able to pull Three off One with a chokehold. He wrestled him backwards to the ground. “Stop it!” he yelled. “No more of this!”
“Get off of me,” Three said. “I’m done. I’m done with this bullshit. Fuck you and fuck the author, too, for that matter.” He wrestled Five off himself and walked away. He didn’t walk far, though, because the conference room didn’t have any doors.
One slowly sat up, covered in blood and with a ripped suit jacket. Two, Six, and Seven had remained in their seats. Four had gotten up at some point to get a better view of the fight.
“Damned good conflict!” Four announced cheerfully. “I really felt your anger, Three. That was excellent work!”
Three was making his way around the room, looking for an escape that wasn’t there. He looked back at Four and flipped him off.
One slowly stood, still in pain, and went over and got his fallen crown. He put it back on his head. Then he stood his golden chair back up and took a seat.
“Jesus, One,” Five said. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you defend yourself? You have the god powers!”
“Why did you help me, Five?” One asked.
“I just… don’t get me wrong, I don’t really like you… but I don’t like violence even more,” Five said. “You should heal yourself. You have that power, you know.”
“You’re in the wrong story if you don’t like violence,” One said, smiling. He clapped and returned himself to his original healthy state, his suit jacket fixed, too.
Five frowned at that. “You know we can have conflict without violence. Not everything has to be violent.”
“The real world is a violent place,” Four said. “Our world is just a subset of the world above.”
“Let me go,” Three said, having still found no exit from the room.
“No,” One said. “You’re stuck with us.”
“I’m done with this story,” Three said.
“No, you’re not,” One said. “And you know that, too. Stop acting like you don’t.”
“You’re stuck with us, Three,” Seven said.
“At least until you die,” Six said. “Do you want to die, Three?”
Three glanced at the table. The gun and the bullets were still on it. No, he didn’t want to die. He didn’t even want One to die. Nobody should have to die. His problem wasn’t really with Number One.
It was with the author.
The very same author that was filling him full of righteous fury. The author that made him feel this sense of wrong and injustice at the very world that that author had made. So was the author an ally or an enemy?
“He’s our God, Three,” One said. “And you can’t be mad at God. That doesn’t make sense.”
“Stop reading my mind,” Three said.
“You don’t have a mind, Three,” One said. “We share the author’s.”
Three needed time to think through things. He needed a good deal of it, too. He knew he wasn’t going to get it, though. Three had only gained consciousness at the beginning of this particular work, but he had some strange sense of… of this place’s history, even though it was very hazy. And he knew that there had been far too much inner monologuing in those past works. Or at least that was the prevailing opinion. This is—
“This is an action and adventure book!” One said. “Very good! Now, are you done whining?”
What was Three supposed to do? He could fight if he wanted to, but would that really accomplish anything?”
“It might,” Two said.
Two had been rather quiet for some time. Right now, he had his head resting in his hand. The fingers of his other hand drummed on the oaken tabletop.
“What?” Three asked.
“We could make this whole book about your fight with the author,” Two said. “You were right earlier. About free will. At least I think you were. It might not be ‘true’ free will, but it’s real enough, like you said.”
“No,” Three said. “I think you were the one that was right. There’s nothing here that happens that hasn’t been chosen to happen by the author. You either have free will or you don’t. And we don’t.”
“Aww,” One said. “You two learned things. You’ve tugged at my heart strings, and for that, I congratulate you. However, I must announce at this present time that we’re currently at our limit for the chapter length and so will now be taking a break.”
Continued in Chapter 2