Chapter 1

When does “thinking” begin? It’s quite obvious that babies don’t think, human babies perhaps less so than animal babies. It would always be simpler they say if we came from Heaven and were the children of God, the instinct to be good, to be saved was natural. Everyone would mean something even in a world full of seven billion people and a universe full of hundreds of thousands of galaxies. Science means that our existence is indifferent, indifferent… But even then, most normal people learn to distance themselves and give things up a bit – everyone was the main character of their own story.

How many years has it been? I was always considered myself “normal” up to high school, dissatisfied here and there with life, but that was what books and movies were for. Middle school, high school were the times in which people more or less grew up – they had to give up being transported to other dimensions, becoming a movie star or an athlete or even evil dictators. I hung out with a weird guy that didn’t quite accept that, up till around senior year. He was moderately attractive but ruined it by simply being too introverted when he wasn’t being too weird. And yet he decided to continue his stupid dreams of becoming a writer, even though he admitted hating a lot of his early work. I chose to major in Computer Science like most people at our school, while he pursued a useless Philosophy degree.

We never really stayed in touch. And college was pretty much what I had expected. There were naughty girls who went to parties and protestors everywhere trying to recruit the naïve and feeble-minded. I kept to myself and my studies, having always been introverted – a book or a video game was usually enough, and my house-mates would occasionally invite me to watch TV or movies together. I was never particularly beautiful, although I wasn’t ugly either, and so if I didn’t take the initiative to hang out with boys, I didn’t naturally pick up a boyfriend. The years ended up passing faster than I had anticipated – it wasn’t that I was over-burdened with schoolwork itself, but just getting in the grind of writing code and debugging chipped away at me.

Although I didn’t really stay in touch with that weird guy from high school, the internet was there. He caught inspiration in both writing, art and animation, and I was surprised to see his improvement, although it was obvious that there was no money in it. I didn’t want to root against him but it appeared he didn’t change his major either. And when we both graduated college, would I “win” for the rest of my life?

Work was even worse than school, but my parents had always expected me to be mature. I looked at the eyes of my seniors at the office, most of them in their 40s and 50s and didn’t look forward to seeing myself in that position. I noticed it harder and harder for me to even flash a playful, sexy smile at myself in the window – harder to imagine things while reading books, so I stuck to TV shows with simple plot lines. Depression can be hard to describe. It was June now, one year after I had graduated, and my 23rd birthday was coming up. When we held the meeting at work they had decided to let me go – too many mistakes had begun to pile up, and the debug team that went after me had decided to consistently complain…

I would enjoy some time off during this period. Maybe I would get into shape or start reading or writing, even lame short stories or poetry. But the four years of college and the working grind had been harder on me than expected. One week of unemployment became two – two weeks turned into a month, and my parents began to worry. I wondered if I could settle down and just become a depressed housewife, but I never had the vanity needed with my make-up, and I never liked bars and parties. Some college friends still wanted to invite me and said that I could settle for a part-time job and that boyfriends could always help out, but I declined the offer. They were ignorantly blissful, planning to use up the opportunities of their twenties and delay adult responsibilities.

It had now been almost another year since I had been let go from the corporate office. I didn’t like being 24 all too quickly, and the six years had gone by probably over twice as fast as life in high school had been. I took to working part-time jobs at restaurants after all. Perhaps it was just my luck that many of them would shut down slightly after I landed a gig there. I cut costs on preparing food, lugging in boxes of Cup Noodles when I went shopping. My sleep schedules became more erratic and I would look forward to dreaming while sleeping more than anything waking life had to offer. Sometimes I would like to play with my noodles and sip them slowly like I was four years old. My vision was getting worse, and I wondered if I should get glasses.

I wasn’t envious of the girls with makeup and fancy clothes, but I was surprisingly envious that the weird guy from high school had still trucked on with writing, art and animation, even though it might take him another decade to get something published. I thought of contacting him once more but shied away – he definitely wasn’t boyfriend material, and it wasn’t like he was going to give me a job. “Hahah,” I chuckled upon looking at his art gallery. He had been notorious through high school for getting way too attached to an anime character, making her his “waifu”. And now he had his own original character as his waifu – purple eyes and white hair, although not quite like Emilia from Re: Zero. He had definitely improved with his shading and linework. As I continued scrolling through, I noticed my vision begin to get blurry. I took a sip of my Cup Noodles and thought that I was just tired and dehydrated.

Oh what oh what shall we do when the characters end? I heard a voice in my head. I had gotten used to talking to myself here and there to kill off loneliness and boredom. It’s easy to kill them off at the end, right?

“It’s not like I would be… a main character,” I shrugged. “I suppose if I was cute enough I could be a heroine in a dumb shonen anime though.”

But you don’t really want to die, do you? He didn’t want you to die now…

Suddenly mirrors began to form around me. I saw glimpses of myself as I looked for an exit among these traps. “Who are you?” I asked. Perhaps I was in a state of sleep-walking, half-asleep but still awake. Perhaps another hour of sleep will do…

You’re a bit too cute to just kill off now. A trickle of sweat ran down my cheek. I definitely wasn’t as cute as an anime character, and I had never really considered modeling. I saw my hazel hair and eyes in the mirror, and average height – although I suppose compared to the average American I was slim.

“Kill me? Why?” I asked.

“When old friends, classmates depart, each one of them can continue their story,” the voice continued. “But what happens to the characters in TV shows and writing?” I almost wanted to chuckle.

“Someone must have been really bored to bother writing about me,” I said, and the last word echoed. The reflections of myself in the mirror were all mouthing “me” together.

“But he wanted to write about you. You were being written about way before I was of any importance… Perhaps it was a mistake, writers make mistakes, but who is lucky to write like Shakespeare on the first try?”

“Well, there’s nothing to write about anymore,” I said. “I would need magical powers first, and I sort of outgrew magical girls a while ago. Well, maybe I could get killed in the first three episodes and then go crazy in a flashback.” I was surprised I was joking to myself now.

“You have what it takes. Jokes, sarcasm even is better than being so standard, so rigid… Indeed, you aren’t going to be me.” I saw the white haired girl appear in the mirrors now. “But there are still things only Rhyme can do.”

I saw rough sketches of myself in the mirror. That weird guy I had known from high school once used me as art practice before. They weren’t horrible, but I had assumed he had moved on… The mirrors shifted with their images, and I saw a complete redesign. Was I really that cute? But he still didn’t bother designing me a new outfit – well, I’d rather prefer not to wear something so embarrassing. “Can I choose what sort of power I get?” I recalled a lot of the anime I was bored enough to watch, and some particular paths seemed unpleasant for heroes…

The voice giggled. “You’re already perhaps the strongest of us all, originally. You survived three whole years of the worst bits of writing…” And a new set of images suddenly flashed in the mirrors. “They say that the first three years of raising a child are the hardest, aren’t they?” Indeed, human babies took so long to gain basic functions and self-control compared to most other species. “But three years of dealing with the worst of it all…” Was I really a fictional character? There were faces, mumbling and weeping voices, depression and self-destructive anger I never personally felt. That was strange – I didn’t consider myself particularly empathetic, and even then I wouldn’t feeling what a guy felt… “A lot of characters didn’t survive, and a lot are forgotten.”

“Three years?” I asked. “How... how many years has it been since I ceased to exist?”

“Almost eight years by now,” the voice explained. “You’ve had the worst luck and yet it was you who insisted to survive. It’s good you managed to come out in one piece so far.”

“Who is my creator?” I reached forward towards one of the mirrors, and grabbed at it, feeling a “wall”. Perhaps I could walk out off the stage, out of the show like a sarcastic cartoon character. But heavy waves began to push me back and my eyelids grew heavy as sleep came upon me. And then I felt myself gentling falling, as if sinking in the river of consciousness. Monsters and humans alike wandered around this river, glancing at me as I drifted downwards.

“Lucky!” they chanted. Were these also other abandoned creations, villains and heroes that had been hastily jammed in by my own creator? They must be stored deep inside the writer’s memory, only triggered by random acts or sometimes brought back to life as he looked at his creations with disappointment. Inky clouds began forming above me, and I felt myself begin to dissolve.

If I was a fictional character I was being brought back… Which meant that my author was even tired of his own stories, perhaps, or desperate for a storyline that could attract more audiences. Still, it was better than being written about in my own depressing life. I hoped that I would be brought back as the main character. “Have you gotten better in the last eight years?” I asked, but there was no response.

When I came to, I was sitting on a chair, and a blue-haired girl was in front of me alongside a red-headed cyborg. We were in what looked to be the open quad area of a high school, and it was around early afternoon – maybe lunch break. “Oh, hey there – you must be Rhyme. The famous one who survived three whole years of bad writing,” the blue-haired girl said. She appeared to be wearing clothes not much unlike that of a mage’s in video games or anime, with striped patterns of blue and purple. “I’m probably one of the oldest here – I’m Inder, although I only appeared as a supporting character for my three years.”

“So, what am I in for?” I asked.

“All writers begin with hundreds of ideas, and slowly chip it down until they can pick from just a few,” Inder said. “It’s probably best that such a thing happens, but something strange has been going on recently. In this world of ‘fiction’, discarded ideas and characters are gaining their own influence. And yet they’re aware of how impossible for them to realize in actual screenplays and scripts. They have begun to take the initiative and created their own program dedicated to Erasing everything in this world of fiction, both things that can succeed and things that can’t succeed. Perhaps they just don’t want other characters to suffer what they went through.”

“But why summon me?” I said. “I still don’t have any superpowers…”

“Surviving for the three year period alongside the worst bits of your creator means you must’ve had some super-power,” Inder insisted. “As for me, I’m just an ice mage, which means that I’ve been more or less replaced by most of our creator’s current works. I was created when our creator was only twelve, so I wasn’t given much room for development or plot. But at the same time since I wasn’t created during such a chaotic time, I don’t have your power either, Rhyme.”

“What about cyborg here?” I gestured to the red-headed cyborg.

“From… the fu… future,” the cyborg said. I pinched myself and closed my eyes, trying to wake up, but Inder was still in front of me after having done so. I was stuck here for good.

“So we’ll fight these characters who want to Erase everything,” I said. “It sounds like a plan. Magical power, awaken!” I tried to summon a bit of fire in my right hand, but nothing popped out. “Maybe I need more mana or something.”

“Your power will come when it needs to,” Inder said. “For now we should take things slowly.”

“Hopefully,” I muttered. “So what if we begin to write in this world though? Would it create a ‘sub-world’ in which the inhabitants would begin to rebel on me? Is it possible to jump ‘up’ a world into reality or ‘down’ into our own sub-stories?”

Inder shrugged. “I’m pretty sure getting out of our world is impossible – but not many here know that we’re trapped in this world of fiction.” We continued eating lunch, and I realized how socially awkward I had become – or rather, I was always written that way, was I? People who wrote always forced their own characters into similar fates. If this wasn’t a dream though, I should try to experiment. It had felt way too long since I was in a high school environment, but I had time to draw, even if they were just small doodles. For some reason I was really interested in drawing anguished faces today – and soon, I saw the faces on my notepad begin to morph and shapeshift, although they were still “stuck” on the paper.

“Give it up,” the faces said to me. “You never had what it takes to survive… Your creator is weak or unlucky or both.”

“What is writing anyways?” Another one of the faces asked. “To tell a tale for children, a religious scripture to control men? Those are direct purposes… But you were never good enough to entertain anyone and he knew it. You are nothing but empty self-deceit.” I quickly grabbed my eraser and rubbed off the sketches I had drawn. Even as they were being erased, they continued their mockery. “For every worthy creation there is almost endless destruction. You might last a bit longer, but you will be erased just as much as we are being erased…”

Erased, and maybe… reformed, once I got better, I thought to myself. That was how animators worked, didn’t they? Every present frame meant deleting the past in one way or another. But I wondered if animated creations had somewhat more power than written ones.

I then took another experiment – what if I drew myself? I didn’t have any ideas on what my special outfit should look like, but I wanted a weapon of some sort, even a plain sword was better than nothing. So I decided to draw myself with a sword, even enchanting it with some flames… Heck, like it’d be that convenient.

When school was over, Inder and I met at the front gates. It appeared that the cyborg from the future had his own plans. Inder was carrying a wolf pup with black fur in her arms, and it was radiating a dark purple aura. “The act of Erasing usually occurs in the shadows, before everyone can even react to it. This guy will lead us to the place in which we confront the monster and seal him. Don’t worry, to everyone else he just looks like a normal wolf pup.”

The wolf pup sniffed the air and yelped a bit, pointing to a direction with his nose. Inder was still intent on carrying him, it appeared, and so I followed her down the hills surrounding the high school. The area looked familiar to the place in which I had grown up, peaceful suburbs full of green trees and quiet roads. It had been all too uneventful, I recalled, but at the same time at least I had been born into a good neighborhood. A weird question suddenly sprung to my mind. “If our creator is successful with his other works, would we just cease to exist? How was life like before you got here?”

Inder shrugged. “I don’t exactly know what our creator had in mind when we were made, but I have faint memories dying and being in different universes. I don’t think I’d ever be more than a supporting character.”

“How did you… die?” I decided to ask.

“It’s nothing special really,” Inder said, annoyed. “I’m sure a lot of characters died in the universes our creator made.” I chuckled – I wish I could be blissfully ignorant in a slice-of-life anime or even a sitcom.

A series of restaurants in the down-town area of the city was right ahead. Everything looked rather normal on the outside, but the wolf pup was getting more excited. “We learned in biology though, how young our species – or primates in general are,” I said. “Perhaps there’s a world within a world and out there we’re just a side-show, an experiment, huh?” Inder didn’t know how to respond to that question, and I was frustrated at being socially awkward. The wolf pup barked once more, and Inder walked a few steps forward before putting him down. “Maybe I should have brought a weapon,” I said aloud. The sword that I had given myself in my drawing didn’t appear in my hands – maybe I had drawn it too poorly.

The wolf pup stepped forwards, and when his paws touched the ground, shadows stretched across the sidewalk. A grey, swirling mist formed in front of me, and Inder gestured. “We have to step through this wall.” I let Inder lead the way once more, and when I crossed the twilight wall, I was in a more bizarre world. There were clouds floating and sinking and zipping about everywhere, and inside of them, I could see little scribbles, children’s drawings and many cartoony faces. In one of the clouds sat a TV, and many smart-phones and monitors floating about with flashing screens – this was the information age, or perhaps the age of click-bait advertising and instant gratification. The TV switched on, and I heard a familiar song begin to play.

“So no one told you life was gonna be this way… Your job’s a joke, you’re broke, your love life’s DOA…”

I suddenly felt like replying to the song, and wondering what would happen. “I always knew there was a possibility of life being this way, of becoming as boring as my parents...”

“But every child is happy, isn’t that so?” Inder asked. Something in the soft ground of clouds began to shake, and small figures began to form. “Deep inside the child slumbers as the world turns to grey… In the world of creators here, nothing is too stupid, nothing too bizarre, and every idea worthy of experiment. The figures became cartoony toddlers with lopsided heads and see-through skulls, revealing the pulsing of their brains and the neurons signaling with electricity.

“Has it really been that many years?” One of the toddlers asked. Despite the oddities, seeing him did bring some maternal instinct in my heart.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“I’m sorry, kids,” I started. “I must be the most boring character one could possibly create to you guys…” But their attention was elsewhere, quickly playing games like actual children – and some of them began to whisper. I turned to Inder, and she gave me a look as if telling me to get ready.

“You like the T-Rex like everyone else, huh?”

“The Stegosaur has the coolest armor though.”

“Too bad the dinosaurs died out.”

“They didn’t all die out, right? A lot of them became the birds…” The swirling mist began to form once more, and this one took a far less friendly figure – but the kids were excited nevertheless.

“Tyrannosaurus Rex,” one of the kids exclaimed, still fascinated by the name given to it by the scientists. “No, he’s too small…”

“Allosaurus!” another one of the kids said. I never had a dinosaur phase myself, but if our creator had a normal childhood and could learn about dinosaurs, he would be like any other boy. I looked around again and still didn’t find any weapons, but Inder was preparing her ice magic.

“He’s still forming,” Inder said. “But if we let him grow to his full form it’ll be impossible to stop him.” The allosaurus materialized mostly as a mere skeleton, although his legs were covered in skinless muscle. It looked around with its skull and hungry teeth, but apparently we weren’t on the menu. Inder stepped forward and shot a piece of ice magic at the dinosaur’s foot, pinning it to the ground with ice – somehow, despite having no vocal cords, the allosaurus managed to shriek. It sounded much more like the call of a bird than of dinosaurs seen in movies. “This is bad.” More shadows began to form from the mists of the clouds, but luckily for us they didn’t seem to be dinosaurs.

The children were still more amused than anything else, and some recognized the new creatures, breaking into excited song. “Ice, nice, they all play nice.” I almost wanted to laugh as the new shadows formed Dr. Seuss-like creatures, full of messy hair and fur and smiles. Dinosaurs and Dr. Seuss were perhaps inevitable for every child.

“Eat, meat, the beast needs meat,” some of the children continued. The Seuss-creatures began jumping towards the allosaurus, still with excited smiles. Inder ran forward and grabbed a yellow bear-like creature and pulled it away, and I followed suit. “If he eats, is it true? What can the beast then do?” The dinosaur went ahead and chomped down on a blue Seuss-creature, but there was no blood – instead, black oil flowed out of the Seuss-creature, who was still smiling as it was gobbled down. More of the allosaurus’ flesh began to reform, halving the number of exposed ribs.

“If I can write like Lewis Carroll,” I began. “Just give me a darn old sword – this dinosaur I will do battle, and send him back towards his Lord.” No sword appeared in my hands, however, and I blushed at myself. Inder didn’t mind the attempt, however, and tried to slow down the allosaurus’ rampage with her ice magic once more. It was akin to tying a ball and chain on the beast’s leg, but as the allosaurus continued to reform and gobble up Seuss-creatures, the frozen weights on its leg became more and more irrelevant.

“Why do we need dinosaurs, oh terror has it brought – life without monsters becomes a bore, overworked around the clock with dull chores, here is the excitement we have sought!” More Seuss-creatures jumped towards the allosaurus and it began to heal more muscle, roaring with excited glee – I’m not sure if it felt pain as it regenerated. Half of its head was covered in flesh now, and although it could only see out of one eye, it quickly deduced that Inder had been the one to cripple its movement with the frozen ice. Inder didn’t looked too annoyed, though.

“If this is what our creator has chosen then…” she began, throwing herself into another reckless attack. The dinosaur was faster, however, and Inder’s icy slash merely scratched the dinosaur’s soft underside.

“Wait, Inder! You’re just going to accept being killed off?” The dinosaur swung its tail with absurd agility and caught her in the side, sending her tumbling away, and I grimaced. Still no weapon was forming in my hands. The children appeared split – some of them were cheering for the dinosaur, and others were rooting for Inder to pull an upset. The allosaurus snarled, wary of traps that Inder might bring as it stepped towards the paralyzed girl. I jumped forwards and grabbed at the beast’s side, managing to use one of the exposed ribcages as a handle. The allosaurus spun around once more, and somehow my grip held its strength. If I couldn’t get a weapon, could I at least add some more Seuss-nonsense to this situation?

“The nooks stuck within the beast’s foul belly, swore that it all became too smelly,” I began awkwardly. The dinosaur was set on ignoring me and heading straight towards Inder, and I was dragged along as I hung on the exposed rib. “Our new home, this cannot be – we’ll escape by using the nimnog-tree!” The allosaurus stood directly over Inder now, and was still cautious as it opened its jaws. Inder used the half-second or so to freeze the ground underneath her and slide away another three meters or so, buying me time to continue my custom Seuss-poem.

“Monsters and devils within our nightmares, but true evils escape our stares,” I continued. “The nimnog tree knows how, to make its host’s body bow…” The allosaurus then lurched downwards, and I broke into a nervous smile – I would have much preferred a sword, but if it was enough to save me and Inder, I wouldn’t complain. “The smallest things know how to eat, inside the body is the best meat --  and so the nooks from Jim to Fred, ate until they went to bed. As the beast fell, its screams loud, the nooks stood on top of their prey proud…” The dinosaur writhed and thrashed its head, and I finally relaxed enough to let go of its rib-cage.

And with that, the swallowed Seuss-creatures began to burrow out of the dinosaur, still with their innocent cartoony smiles as if they were merely performing a show after having eaten their prey from the inside out. The children were still amused and clapped upon witnessing the scene, and Inder pulled herself up to her feet, clutching her side. “So that’s your power, Rhyme?” I was still embarrassed by my stupid poem. “Maybe next time you should write down some drafts so I don’t have to break a couple ribs.”

We didn’t really have time to celebrate our victory, however. One of the clouds above us began to shake and rumble, and another figure began to fall out of the clouds and tumbled downwards. Just as I tried to prepare more Seuss-poems within my head, the figure stood up and flashed a handsome smile. He had spiky black hair and wore a sleeveless shirt, exposing his muscular frame – his muscles even gleamed in the light, although his legs were covered with baggy pants. “Ah, I’m free at last. Who would have thought the beast that entrapped me could be defeated by the power of Seuss-speak?”

“Who might you be?” I asked. There was a bizarre blue, almost like writhing tentacles were forming from the back of the man’s neck.

“Ah…” The man scratched his head, as if he was trying to search for memories. “Um… I’m many characters, I think,” the man gave me a thumbs-up. “I’m what happens after dinosaurs and Dr. Seuss. Most children tend to create me in one way or another.” I was confused by the explanation and turned to Inder, who nodded.

“So you’re the Mary Sue that can appear in all children’s books?” Inder asked.

“Don’t confuse my gender,” the man said. “At least call me ‘Gary Stu’. But I don’t like the name Gary either, because it’s… Meow, like SpongeBob’s pet snail. I have yet to be named, but I’m always collectively being made in past, present and future works because enough people create and consume Mary Sue protagonists…” the man’s voice drifted off. “But you can call me Arthur and I’ve got dragon… no, just eggs.” Arthur reached into his pocket and began juggling what looked like over-sized eggs, patterned by green spots. “Want some?”

“No I would not like green eggs and ham, no I would not like them Sam-I-am,” Inder replied. I couldn’t help but smile, appreciating that there was at least some sense of humor.

“So in a sense, if I find the female version of you, would I be able to active my true power and not rely on Seuss-speak?” I asked Arthur. It seemed to amuse the man.

“You’re always looking for the easy way out,” Arthur said. I suppose that was true in a sense. “I don’t think you were summoned here just to become a Mary Sue, although I’ll always be… just that. You know what, I’m tired though. I don’t want to be the villain because villains lose too often, but I want to not be Mary Sue. But on the other hand those sorts of protagonists really don’t get fleshed out or sell that well, so I might have been eaten by our dinosaur friend. But who knows? Maybe I can help you guys on your quest… Or mission or whatever. Villains will always exist as long as humans are self-destructive like that.”

The toddlers frolicking around grew a little bit taller now, appearing to be around six or seven, and many of them crowded around Arthur. “But as long as children exist there’s room for you,” I said. I could understand not wanting to be a one-dimensional character to always bust in and save the day, but I didn’t like my insecurities and I didn’t like my Seuss-power. I then turned to the Seuss-creatures who were all making their way back towards the clouds of memories, preparing to be dissolved into scribbles once more.

“Dr. Seuss and dinosaurs last for a fun amount of time, but then for the next few years it’s my time,” Arthur gestured. “Everyone has their time and place.” He tried to reassure me with a smile. “I likely wouldn’t exist or wouldn’t be as awesome if toddlers never grew up on Dr. Seuss and dinosaurs.”

“The world is collapsing,” Inder pointed to the sky, which was forming grey wisps and dark shadows once more. “We need to return now.” A few seconds later I felt myself spinning, dizzy and weary, and soon enough we were back on the peaceful and uneventful suburban town. “I’m sure there’s more to what you got than Seuss-speak,” Inder began. “But why did you make them eat the dinosaur from the inside out?”

“I had to tell some sort of little story, right?” I asked. That was the first thing that came to mind. I remembered what Arthur had said and it was true – all children needed these phases in their development, as nonsense as Dr. Seuss was and as cliché as Mary Sues were. But everyone would move on eventually – if I was a fictional character, with a role to play on the stage, I had to make the most out of my second chance.

Someone was making his way up to the sidewalk we were standing on. It was the red-headed cyborg that I had initially met alongside Inder. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I could’ve helped, but it’s hard to fight the nanomachines installed inside of me.” I looked at Inder for explanation once more, but she seemed just as confused as I was. “Did I tell you guys I came from the future?”

“So do we finally have flying cars?” I asked. The cyborg didn’t seem to get the humor, and something flashed in his eyes – one side of his face was covered in metallic chrome, and his eye rotated like a camera did when zooming in. I didn’t think there was something on my face, so it appeared that the cyborg was glitching. “Continue – you said you were from the future.”

“Ah, yes – I was sent here to change the future,” the cyborg said. “Although doubtless many have tried to come here to preserve it. Eventually neuroscience and technology grew advanced enough so that the average person was… enhanced, like I am, although most of them choose to fully integrate themselves into collective human machinery. It was a blessing at first,” the cyborg continued. “No more wars once we understood the root of our evil – and then it became no more boredom, no more failing classes because it became easy to directly download information much like a computer would. People were able to be saved from freak accidents as long as the brain remained intact. But it was also no more happiness as your time currently knows. People either understood the formula for a good story so that it could be simulated for a certain time, or machinery would automatically find an existing work or erase memories so that they could repeatedly enjoy their favorites. Actors and writers were out of work, but they didn’t really mind. Soon enough it just became more convenient to modify newborns and make them cyborgs rather than go through the effort of raising them. As you might expect, I was part of the faction that wanted to go back to the old world – they generated enough power to send me back in time, but the nanomachines are still trying to ‘correct’ me for lack of a better term.”

“Sounds like it’s straight out of a sci-fi dystopia,” I commented. “If you could drop me a laser gun or a plasma shield or something that would be appreciated too.”

“No need for weapons in our future,” the cyborg said. “In this era though, they said that the people here still use names, and introduce each other… manually. That’s why I was confused so often.”

“I’m Inder,” Inder gave the cyborg an awkward handshake.

“Rhyme,” I said, my mind drifting off. At first it was raw fantasy, but now I didn’t like having to prevent a sci-fi dystopia either.

“Rhymes with what?” the cyborg asked.

“That’s my name,” I started. “Rhyme.”

“Rhymes with what?” the cyborg repeated. It didn’t seem like he was joking. “If that really is your name, it’s an irrational choice – you are speaking of the English word and spelling and not of a foreign culture, are you?” I didn’t particularly think too much about my name – my parents, or rather my creator couldn’t named me something worse, and common names had their own problem too. “That is… humorous. Humor is still hard for me to understand. Rofl – that was the acronym that was once used on the internet, right?”

“Sounds like a good name,” Inder suggested. “Rofl. Pronounced Roff-ell.”

“Let’s just call him Rolf,” I suggested “R-o-l-f,” I said, spelling it. “But it does sound like a dystopia if people didn’t have names and were just assigned number-letter combinations, like license-plates.”

“Rolf,” the cyborg repeated. “In my database Rolf was the name of an Ed, Edd, n Eddy character. But I won’t quarrel with this name.” Inder shrugged, apparently not having too much preference.

“Sounds like a good trio to me then?” I suggested. “The Seuss-speaker, a useless confused cyborg and an ice mage save the world from sheer destruction.” Rolf was even more awkward than I was though – perhaps in the future there was no such thing as small talk to relieve our social impulses if everyone was wired to machinery. “Inder, I hope you get your ribs healed. I’ll try to make some Seuss-rhymes just in case.”

When I got home, I wasn’t met with my parents, however. The house in which I was to stay in this parallel world appeared to be the one I had lived in during high school with a few minor exceptions. It felt rather lonely for the first few seconds, and then I realized that a maid was there waiting for me with a solemn demeanor on her face. I suppose it meant less chores. I had never really seen my parents as special, and they weren’t too surprised or disappointed with me other than the last couple of years or so when working the grind didn’t turn out so well.

In any case, when I opened my homework, I was surprised that I found it much more enjoyable than the repetitive grind of coding and debugging – although just like in high school, history classes weren’t shy about showing their students the gruesome and gory bits of humanity. I wrote down some Seuss-rhymes as I had promised Inder, still dissatisfied by the power that I had been given. I wondered if I should bother making normal friends again since high school students had more time – but it probably wouldn’t be possible with Inder dragging me along to bust monsters.

“How long have you been working here?” I curiously asked the maid. She had chestnut hair and would be attractive if she didn’t appear so serious.

“I’ve been working as a maid my entire life, and have been taking care of you for three years now,” the maid said. She seemed surprised at how curious I looked. “I’m not to help you with either your homework or your other duties though.” With that she resumed cleaning the dust off the tables, and I retreated once more, repeating the Seuss-rhymes in my head. For a moment I thought of whether or not it would’ve been a bad thing if I had put more effort into finding a boyfriend -- but women staying single into their thirties wasn’t uncommon, anyways. If my age had really reversed eight or nine years perhaps I should be grateful to stay young a little longer.

As I drifted off into sleep, I heard a strong slurping noise, as if a juice box was being sucked dry and crushed. So I couldn’t even find peace in my dreams, could I? As an image formed in front of my mind, I saw a figure standing inside what appeared to be an empty church, with tinted light coming in through the ceiling glass. The figure would be humanoid enough, but oddly enough there was an odd mass of belts, ropes and chains tied around his waist and stretching down to his knees. “Oh, how long has it been?!” He looked around the church with bulging eyes and long blonde hair, flicking his arms like a deranged priest. He definitely seemed to be in the robes of a pastor, etched with emerald green and golden patterns. “Over a decade since my presence! It is our time now, Rhyme dear, to punish humanity for its sins!”

I looked closer at the church. There were Christian crosses alright, but also verses in Arabic and other hieroglyphics and mysterious statues. “Perhaps once upon a time the cross would have been enough!” the man exclaimed. “But we have since then discovered that the earth is far older than its creation myth, and countless gods and devils and demons surround us… We are blessed, truly blessed with more oddities than we could ever wish for!” The man shot out a wild grin. “But mankind rejects the rapture, the joy that surrounds us – they shun their madness, not knowing that without chaos and darkness there can be no light… But I, I am the Unshaded…” The pastor choked and coughed a bit. “Bring me another juice box!” he declared, and for some reason I found myself moving towards one of the desks and pulling out a juice box. The Unshaded grabbed it fiercely and ripped off the straw, jamming it into the socket violently before making another loud, noisy slurp. “Ah, this is the only pleasure for those committed to life without sinning, but…” He looked at me once again. “You are not ready yet, not evolved enough yet for us to begin our destiny! Alas, they said you could carry all the sins! Very well, I shall give you another name, although it is the mark of vulgar pride. You can call me Xavier…

“And I represent sales, sullying salvation!” Xavier continued as he crumpled up the juice box, wringing it dry before throwing it away. “I am the rapture, the chaos of all religions – science says that everything shall be made known, comprehensible, and our entertainment more and more… brainless, mindless! We shall show the world that humanity still knows its madness.”

“What’s with the belts?” I asked, pointing to the mass of restraints on his waist. “Is it a chastity belt?”

“No better way to describe it,” Xavier said as he adjusted some of the restraints. “I cannot experience lust nor arouse it in any other being! But the very human body is lustful by its form, so I took even more precautions – I can feel nothing, nothing at all across my bowels, I cannot exhibit the flesh of buttocks, and that is why… That is why I can only live on this wretched juice! Very well – It prevents me from gluttony, more or less, but there is no escaping all the deadly sins. But I have other gods and demons to attend to besides the dominant monotheisms of Abraham…”

“What do you need me for? I thought I was just helping Inder defeat the beings that would destroy all creativity…”

“But you won’t do so without my help,” Xavier declared. “I must also say that I have conquered lust and fight gluttony, but sloth, sloth is the worst and hardest to fight, is it not? For most humans without madness, it is easier and simpler to let something else in the world entertain you, brainwash you… First it was radio, then television and then video games, people have lost the madness of true thought. Prayer, prayer and repetition is not enough, for I know that gods and devils alike demand more… But without sloth there is nothing but pride, is there not? Too much wretched pride and vanity?”

“I never thought so much about the seven sins,” I began, but Xavier continued his rant.

“As humans learn more and more how small they truly are in the universe – in the solar system and galaxies and clusters and super-clusters and voids and deep voids…” Xavier continued as he reached for another juice-box, half-walking half-limping. “Perhaps sloth is the correct answer! There is far much more mere inertia in the world, physics following physics as bodies orbit their stars… How much pride must one have to create, when artists knowingly insult their true insignificance! That is why one day you will be awakened to your true self, whether you like it or not…”

“Yeah, well maybe it’s not that complicated,” I began. “Maybe Dr. Seuss was just bored, and writers found their occupation much better than other careers…” It probably was no use arguing with someone who had gone insane, but Xavier seemed to truly enjoy my response.

“Still wearing that mask of yours? It’s the most popular mask to wear,” Xavier said as he slurped up his juice box and began ripping up the paper carton into fine shreds – first scraps, and then fine dust, working with his hands like they were the winds of a hummingbird. “It is easiest to survive when you wear the easiest masks, like how a zebra might survive. But wear enough masks, create enough masks and you will find hallucinations, proud hallucinations! Man has never evolved the stripes of a zebra – he was proud enough to create gods, who were proud enough to taunt and curse man.”

The sound of cows mooing agitatedly was heard outside, and Xavier grinned an odd grin, as if he was almost smiling from the tragedy of the situation. “Look at the sloth of those who have refused my gifts,” Xavier said as he pointed outside the church. I followed the mad pastor to see a peaceful grassy field where cows were grazing peacefully. “The world is generous and bountiful for those who merely wish to chew the cud. Should certain creatures be worshipped, forbidden from consumption? They say it’s mere luck to be born a human or born a cow, but I have seen the arena in which souls come from! The gods fiercely test us before and after life, sometimes they gamble, sometimes they mock us! Should this soul be reborn as a cow or a man or even a tree?”

“Trees and other plants definitely don’t have the brains to experience consciousness though. Is the grass also screaming as it’s being eaten?” I asked.

“So you still choose to cage yourself in science, young Rhyme. The souls that chose to be reborn as trees and grass may not enjoy themselves like cows and humans,” Xavier began. “But they know life and death better than the rest of us – which other species can absorb energy directly from the sun! Oh, how many gods and goddesses of the sun have humans attempted to appease, only to be embarrassed by those that can taste light from their leaves?” I wondered how much more of Xavier’s ranting I would have to listen to, but the rays of light began to flow in, and the dream-vision began to blur.

“Heh,” I said to myself as I woke up and looked at the ceiling. The dream didn’t fade away from memory like most – perhaps Xavier the Unshaded really was a real person, starting to wake from being reborn. Another odd villain was going to enter my life. As I got into the dining room, I told my new maid that I would at least help prepare some of the breakfast, or at least the food.

The dream with Xavier had perhaps triggered more memories than I had expected – he claimed it had been over a decade since his initial creation. I sang to myself, remembering how every brand of cereal had a different mascot. There were weird things that I did miss about childhood. “Here I come I am cin-namon…” When I grabbed onto an apple, a grumpy face began to pop out at me for a split second.

“They’re called Apple-Jacks!” the apple protested, forcing me to clumsily fumble around with it for a couple of seconds. When I looked again, the face was gone, but I still felt that the waxy red skin had definitely moved around. What a great way to start the new day, I thought to myself.