Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby kbailey » Fri Oct 08, 2010 11:35 am

I'm visiting Justin and Cailin in Aberdeen, MD and they get the bright idea to skip over to Philly for a night of drinking. We book a room at some hotel where the man working the front desk speaks french and a little broken english. He isn't purposely giving us a hard time but that's what it ends up being.

We drop our stuff in the room and head to the bars. There's a lot of drinking, a lot of laughs, a little screaming, and I'm pretty sure at one point I saw the ghost of Hunter Thompson. He said, "terrible noise. Terrible, terrible noise."

I'm wasted by the time we reach Paddy's Pub. I open the heavy green door, walk in, and Boom. It's just like the show - bar to the left, a row of stools leading to a pool table straight ahead, and small tables and booths to the right. Am I dreaming? Why not go with it?

Justin and Cailin threw in the towel sometime around midnight so it's just me sitting at the bar. I knock on it to get someone's attention, I mean the place is dead. No one around.

A door opens to the right of the bar and out steps Mac. Like, the hair, the sleeveless shirt, the tats - it's uncanny.

"Can I get a Jack and Coke?"

"Sure thing bro." He walks behind the bar and fixes the drink, pushes it over to me. I take a sip, it's strong, burns.

"Where is everybody?"

"Friday night. It's always slow around here on Fridays."

This is crazy, I'm thinking. But again, why not go with it? "Where's the rest of the gang?" I ask.

"Frank and Charlie already left for the night. Dennis and Dee's dad is in town. Long story. It's this whole big thing. I dont want to get into it."

"What if something went down and it's just you here?"

He smiles/smirks. "Not a problem bro. Anyone comes in here to start trouble and I'd just showcase some moves, you know." He simulates what I guess is some kind of karate chop in the air, exhaling loudly.

"You'd take care of it huh?"

"Oh yeah. You have no idea. I'll put on a clinic right now if you want to see how I take care of business."

"Have at it."

Mac walks around the bar and begins his routine. He kicking, punching, chopping the air. This time he makes a breathy-whistle to accentuate each blow.

"What do you think? Pretty bad-ass right?" He's grinning as wide as his cheeks will allow.

"That's... something all right," I say.

"Yeah I know, my form's pretty perfect so..." Mac must realize I was being sarcastic. His face sinks, he turns, walks to the office pausing to grab a bottle from behind the bar, and slams the door.

I finish my drink and stroll out into the chill of autumn.

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby Boto de Gatas » Fri Oct 08, 2010 6:50 pm

Meet FicMe

I rub the foggy mirror with my hand. Instead of myself I accidentally see my favorite fictional character: the me I wanted to be. It’s weird. I didn’t take any drugs today or this week. The fictional me grins about this thought. He talks trough his mirrored eyes and mirrored expressions. He talks without words, directly into my mind. He grins because he doesn’t have drug issues. Not that he doesn’t use them, they just don’t harm him physically, economically or socially. I grin back, envious. Through the mirror, I explore his surroundings. He is also in a bathroom but I can see his bedroom through the open door behind. I can see he has a poster of Björk’s Medúlla on the wall. Some things never change. Fictional me (who, for now on, I will call FicMe in an internet-friendly, modern-babbling way) grins again. He isn’t simply a fan of Björk, he dated Björk, as well as Natalie Portman, Jessica Alba, early Brooke Shields, Beatrice and even beloved Sandy. Some of them at the same time. And he meant precisely the same time. I grin not this time. Looking around I can see FicMe is not rich in a multi-millionaire way. He’s the writer I always wanted to be, he does what he likes, when he likes, where he likes and get good payment for it. I look down and realize he has a much bigger dick than mine. He says/thinks to me that he uses it a lot and that he’s good at doing it, in the most varied ways, as memories of the aforementioned women - having multiple orgasms - blitz through my mind to prove it. I wish deeply in my heart that the memories were not just audiovisual but tactile as well. He has a perfect version of my body though he doesn’t do or need any exercise. His beard and hair grow and ungrow as he wishes in the shape he wishes.

In his “saythinking” manner, FicMe tells me he’s completely happy and likes to exist. He knows and understands the meaning of his life and don’t get bothered with the big unanswered questions. He likes to play with them. He couldn’t get more different from me. In a defensive move, I ask how he can be completely happy in a world like this. FicMe bursts into a thundering laughter. His world is fictional too. There’s no pain or war or sickness. He says this is what does the trick. Everyone’s wishes are granted on the other side of the mirror. I ask what happens if one wish contradicts the other. He grins once again and explains that there are infinite mirrors. That one chooses in which side of which mirror to stay but no one can avoid his reflection to exist. I partially get it (in fact I get it all in a way indescribable with words). He lights a cigarette. I do the same. The difference is that he will never die from cancer. He will never die until he wishes to. I ask about God. He says he never met the guy but that, in a sense, everyone is god on the other side of the mirror.

And love? FicMe confesses that he only really likes/believes/feels it when consensual and stresses that all the girls he mentioned stayed with him in the same side of the mirror. “People who love each other stay together” he concludes. It’s a fact I don’t love FicMe. Now I can see it clearly. I envy him. I hate myself a tad more by his presence. It makes complete sense we’re on opposite sides of the mirror. Te always grinning FicMe comments he likes sincerity too as he turns his shower on. The mirror starts to get foggy again. I rub it and now stare at myself. No fic whatsoever just me. Me and a persistent image in my mind: a mirror in front of the other. Which is reflecting what if what is shown in one mirror is the reflection of the other which, in its turn, is reflecting the first and so on infinitely?

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby Neets » Sat Oct 09, 2010 10:56 am

I finally got my little fire started, it's actually chilly here on this beach after sunset,

and with the wind I was truly proud of myself to see that little fire grow.

I ran back into the dark to collect some more wood, I knew I didn't have quite enough for an

evening of warmth, and I was hoping that maybe I would get lucky.

I did. I lugged a nice size piece of dry driftwood up the dune towards my little fire, and

my heart froze to see a figure sitting next to it. I was angry, if this person thought that

they could take over my fire - D'oh! The realization that I had only minutes before been

quite upset to think I was the only person on this island - I gave myself a stupid pass, I

was tired, hungry, cold and half crazed with fear and now very curious about my vistor.

"Hello? Hi, are we alone on this island? Um, this is my fire here..." I called out ahead

while lugging the driftwood, hoping this guy wasn't a ax murderer. O what the hell, he's

here now, what other options do I have? If he's an ax murderer, at least he can help me with

some damn firewood before we freeze to death.

"Oh! Oh!" Startled, the figure of the man rose from the fireside, and rushed towards me in

the gloom, his smell hit me first, rum and sweat, peeuuuuuu, holy moly, holy smokes,


"Allow me darling! I wouldn't think of allowing a lady such as yourself to toil with no

assistance whatsoever, this is a lovely fire, I hope you don't mind my intrusion?"

His smile in the fireglow revealed missing chompers but Capt. Jack Sparrow stood before me

and took the driftwood from my hands and began to lug it to the fire.

My slack jaw didn't re-hinge for a good while, I just stood at that spot, struck dumb.

"I mean, if you do mind, let me know, I do have some refreshments here, and would be most

honored to share. I can assure you that I am nothing if not a gentleman..." Capt. Jack held

up a bottle, which probably had a label on it reading "Capt. Jack Rum" or some such,

probably a small photo of him on the bottle to boot, ripping off the Capt. Morgan pose.

I'm sure I'm delirious and probably was bitten by some insanely poisonous spider or snake

over there on the other side of the dune where I found the wood and now am going to die

soon, but will do the crazy first of course.

Oh well, at least I get to spend my last moments on earth pitching four sheets to the wind

with my imaginary Capt. Jack could be worse ways to sign off...

I laughed, sat down next to the Capt. and held out my hand for the bottle, I had plopped

down on a fair size rock, smooth from the sea, and tossed it behind my shoulder.

"Don't do that!" Capt. Jack stood up suddenly. "Oh well then, you've already done it..."

The rock did a transformer move and was now a crab, moving towards me. I already knew how

this part of the story went, Capt. Jack and I began to run away from the growing number of

the rock crabs.

"The RUM!" Capt Jack began to run back, and I let him, since he's fictional and all... I

don't like crabs, they're too much like spiders of the sea.

I looked back to see that the Capt IS really fast, he got the rum!

"You're an inspiration Captain!" I called, as we both continued to run.

He ran past me, "Thank you dear, now see if you can keep up!"

By the time we had run a complete circuit around the island back to the fire the crabs had

given up the chase, the Capt. and I had the fire to ourselves.

The moon was high over the beach, the Captain's four front teeth were shining, like his dark

eyes, he was laughing and so was I, the Capt Jack Rum is a good brand.

"So now what, love?"

"Yes Captain?"

"Well, you're well over five hundred words, and you know what that means."

"I know. Damn."

"Another time then?"

"You got it, Captain."

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby Charger » Mon Oct 11, 2010 11:02 am

It’s just after 2:00 in the morning. Something woke me up but I’m not alert enough to identify it. I sit up and swing my legs off the bed and into my slippers.

There it is again. The sound of soft footsteps and something else – a window sliding back against a metal frame.

Someone is in my house.

I reach under by bed, feeling for the handgun I keep under a towel. My fingers make contact with the small Star 380 and I grab it, trying not to touch the trigger. Guns make me nervous but so do intruders.

I creep slowly and silently down my narrow hallway. A night light in the bathroom to my left lights my way. I focus my eyes ahead of me.

I scan the kitchen quickly as I pass it. I can see the window blind has been moved to one side. Dishes, which had been drying in a wooden rack on the counter are now scattered about the sink and floor.

That is the sound I heard. I snap my head to the right.

There – sitting at the dining table – a silhouette.

Stop right there or I’ll shoot, I say.

But I’m not moving, says a woman’s voice.

I point the gun at the figure and with my other hand, snap on the kitchen light.

It can’t be, I say. You’re Anna Arkadyevna Karenina.

Yes, she says.

But you’re not real and… you’re dead.

Not yet, she says, but I will be soon enough.

I can see that she is upset and, abandoning my fear, I put the gun down on the table.

Anna stands and extends her right hand.

I am pleased to meet you, she says. Please do forgive the intrusion but I am not quite myself.

I take her soft hand in mine and nod slowly. I feel the rings on her fingers and the coldness of her skin.

Please, sit down, I say. I will make us some chamomile tea.

I don’t suppose you have anything stronger? Something for medicinal purposes perhaps?

Returning to the dining area with two Corona’s, a wedge of lime in each. I hand one to her and then wait while she drinks her beer.

I have lost everything, she says. I traded in my life as a respectable wife and mother in order to satisfy my own desire. Now the passion has died. Count Vronsky has stopped loving me and I have nothing.

That’s not true, I say. You still have the love and devotion of your son Seryozha and this is 2011. It’s much easier for a woman to divorce her husband and retain custody of her child. You can marry the Count and your son can live with you both.

Anna puts her head in her hands and begins to weep.

Alexei Vronsky does not love me anymore. I have nothing. I gave up everything I had to be with him and he became my whole world. Now that world has ended.

I stand up and put a hand on each of her shoulders.

Listen to me, I say. Vronsky still loves you, he always will. But he is a guy who is used to being single. He needs to feel like he can still do some of the things he did before without having you nag him about it.

Anna stops crying and looks me in the eye.

But I am so alone, she says. When he leaves for a night on the town, I am beside myself with jealousy and rage.

Well, there’s your problem. You need to get a life of your own. Go out with the girls and party a bit. Find something you like to do and throw your passions into it. What you feel for Alexei seems more like obsession than love anyway.

Anna is quiet for a moment until, slowly, a smile forms. She blushes a light shade of pink and laughs out loud.

What? I ask.

I do have a secret fantasy, she says.

I smile at her, and wait again.

I would like to play Roller Derby, she says.

Anna, that is wonderful, I say. You could change your name to Anna Careen-into-ya.

We are both laughing now as we clink our bottles together.

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby avalanche_of_elysium » Tue Oct 19, 2010 3:16 pm

I will not fall asleep – I will not fall asleep – I will not fall asleep.
My head hit the desk, and all the mental nudging in the world could stop me from falling asleep during Mr. Grey’s English class. I wouldn’t have dozed off from utter boredom if I were at my Geometry class, but English has never been my favorite subject, especially when Mr. Grey droned on and on about some dude named Shakespeare. Whatever. It all flashed through one ear and out the other.
“When Shakespeare wrote his masterpiece…note the similarities between Hamlet and Fortinbras…Hamlet felt a filial loyalty…he felt that Gertrude had betrayed him...”
I snuggled up closer to my desk and rested my head against the cool wood. Boy, was I one tired girl. I was just getting as comfortable as I could, when I felt a tapping on my shoulder. Oh, crud. Mr. Grey is probably right behind me, armed with a detention sheet and a call to my parents for falling asleep at class. Again. I lifted my head off my desk and awaited my fate.
Instead, it was a guy I had never noticed nor seen before, sitting next to me, and eyeing my slouched posture disapprovingly. His hair was black, and his clothing was all black. It was like a raven was sitting next to me.
He was close to my ear, and whispered, “You should pay attention to class. This is quite fascinating.” He leaned back and grinned, “Especially the main character, Hamlet. A wonderful, clever person he is, and one who should every person should try to emulate, if I may say so myself. A fine man, Hamlet.” For some reason, this made him very pleased with himself.
I rolled my eyeballs. Out of politeness I quietly asked, “What is your name?”
He shrugged. “My name? It is Hamlet.”
I snorted. “Just like the character in the dorky play? Whatever was your mother thinking?”
Hamlet said, “I have no idea what my mother was thinking. I have never understood a single thing she has ever done.” He muttered something I couldn’t catch – something about betrayal and someone marrying his own uncle.
Wide awake now, I pretended to make notes in my notebook, while looking sideways at my desk partner. “Are you new here? Why have I never seen you in class before?”
“Perhaps you never noticed me.” He eyed Mr. Grey, who was enthusiastically describing the character of Ophelia from Shakespeare’s play. Mr. Grey’s arms were flapping around and his glasses had fallen onto his nose.
Hamlet sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh, Ophelia, frail, beautiful, innocent Ophelia. What did you do to me? What did I do to you?”
He smiled quickly. “Nothing. Merely a mirage of a thought. It is not of consequence.”
“I’m pretty sure I haven’t seen you here before – why don’t you come to class more often?”
“I don’t need to. After all, I did attend college for a while, until my uncle made me stop.” His frown was back again.
“You went to college!? Then why are you here at high-school? How-”
“Care to explain why you are having conversations with yourself?” Mr. Grey suddenly loomed ominously over me.
I gulped and looked at Hamlet. He observed my situation with a mournful look on his face, and he sadly said to me, “A mirage of a thought, I am sad to say. Of no consequence.” He got up from his chair, and walked out the door. I noticed he had no backpack, and that Mr. Grey didn’t even look at him. Mr. Grey’s gaze was fixed on me, waiting.
“I’m sorry I was talking during class, but I wasn’t talking to myself, Mr. Grey. There was this guy, his name was Hamlet, and he was talking to me…” My voice trailed off at Mr. Grey’s incredulous expression.
“There is no student in my class named Hamlet, and no one sat next to you through the whole class. Your desk partner, Adelaide, is sick. Perhaps you should go to bed earlier, and you won’t imagine things.”
The class snickered. My face resembled a tomato from blushing.
“Yes, I’m sorry, sir.”
“Very well. Don’t let it happen again. Now where was I? Ah, yes! Hamlet’s affection for Ophelia! Did he truly love her? Or did he not…” The class continued.
I never saw Hamlet again. But for some reason since than, English has become my favorite subject. Funny.

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby rfreeborn » Wed Nov 10, 2010 2:49 pm

My episode can best be described by the letter I wrote to my character after our first day together. It is as follows:

It hurts.
It actually hurts much worse than I’d ever imagined it would hurt. I know our meeting was simply happenstance and I do not curse it now, despite the pain I feel. I was simply driving along the deserted highway when the boulder smashed my full-size sedan into a micro-compact. As great as my pain is I know it is unmatched compared to the frustration you must feel after decades of endless torment and failure.
I applaud your relentless effort. I stand saluting you, knowing that no one has worked as hard or as diligently as you toward a goal that seems unreachable. You are an unheralded DaVinci in a land of Prince Alberts.
I say all of this knowing that your pain far exceeds mine; I am simply unaccustomed to the physical torment you endure so flawlessly. Up until today I’d never been slammed into walls, drug across thorny, rock-filled landscapes, or charred black by the singeing fire of an exploding device.
I know that words are hard for you, so expressing your grief for my pain is something I do not expect or foresee. I simply want you to know that I am feeling a small shred of the suffering you have come to know as your own. You are no longer alone.
Despite my agony, I will not falter in my ambition. I will stand by your side as a comrade, a soldier, and a friend. I know that we shall meet our goal and the triumphant feast we will have on the day of our victory will taste better than any sustenance ever consumed. We will relish in the delectable tang of victory. We will gorge ourselves on its sweet glory.
That day is very near my friend. I can feel it. I know that soon the cloak of defeat shall be forever cast off and we will sing the praises of our own ingenuity. Where you were one, we are now a team. Our foe is outnumbered and will soon stare into the infinite black eyes of conquest.
The day is fast approaching brother. Despite our shared pain and frustration, one day very soon, Wile E., we shall capture that damned bird!

P.S. – Would it be possible to order from a different catalog? Acme’s product quality seems slightly substandard.

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby raimi » Sun Nov 21, 2010 7:53 am

Isn’t it funny, that the strangest things tend to happen when it’s the most ordinary day in the life of a very ordinary person?

I would consider myself an ordinary person. No strange likes or dislikes, I’m one of many instead of one of a kind. Oh but I have dreams. Real dreams, strange dreams- I never tell. Sometimes there’s a man in those dreams- oh, not like that, you pervert- and he has many faces, sometimes he’s an old man with white hair, sometimes with black. Sometimes he speaks with an accent and grins like a cat.

He burns yet I long for him. The sad soldier, when and where and everywhere he wants to. This free, odd man.

It’s the most ordinary of days when he becomes a part of my reality, instead of just a vague, hazy thing in my dreams.
I’m shopping, it’s a small shop, one-coloured clothes for single people, the shop clerk doesn’t care, has never cared. She doesn’t smile when I grab my bag and head out. It’s then when I hear it, the wheezing sound of an ages-old machine and everything around me stops.
It’s all I hear, as I head towards the sound, the noise of the people on the streets disappear, colours sprout out of nowhere and all I hear is that sound.

With a thud, it lands as I turn the corner and there it is, the ancient blue police box, gleaming and innocent, dangerous yet so wonderful. I stop and dare I even think of the possibility… ?

The door opens and he steps out. I know it’s him, even though he has a different face now, a younger one, messy black hair and a quirky smile. There’s a girl too, blazing red hair and a miniskirt and I stare, unashamed.
“Doctor!” I shout. He looks at me (she looks at me too), curious, tilting his head to the side. He comes close, not to ask how do I know his name, but only to say “Hello!” and smile a mysterious smile. I don’t ask to come with him, the girl is looking at me with a little jealous frown.

I only say, trying to hide my excitement, my joy, for he is real, not just a legend;
“It’s an honour to meet you, Doctor.” He smiles at me, touches my shoulder.
“Gotta run, lady, worlds to save, people to talk to. Come along, Pond,” he ushers and is gone.

Running off again. Awful lot of running, aye?

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby StankinatorRex » Thu Nov 25, 2010 5:49 pm

My arm broke the surface and arced through the air before coming down and pulling me through the water while my other arm began its half of the windmilling that passes for my swimming. Once every completed cycle my head turned and spat water taken in with the previous breath before gulping more water and air. I caught a glimpse of the pitching shoreline. Closer now to terra firma.
My kicking legs, submerged well below the surface to avoid the turbulence of my technique, struck the sandy bottom and I pulled up to begin walking the rest of the way to shore from waist-deep water.
The blanket in the shade of the palm tree was still there and occupied by the same shapely brunette still reading her paperback novel. Or I assumed she was still reading. So hard to tell when they’re wearing sunglasses.
She hadn’t, I hoped, been observing my pitiful attempts at recreational swimming.
My own blanket was spread a little more than fifty yards from hers. I walked to it, toweled off my shoulders, back and arms before plunking down to slip on my own sunglasses to level the playing field. A magazine proved as a reading ruse over whose top I could continue casually monitoring the brunette while wondering how to approach her.
A stocky fellow approached from behind me calling out “Nice day for a swim.”
I turned to reply, looking over the top of my shades. “Seems almost any day in these islands is nice for swimming.” I looked at his T-shirt and well-worn jeans. “But you’re not dressed for swimming.”
“No,” he laughed. “I log plenty of time on the water. My job is on the sea, all waters in almost any and all parts of the world.” His accent wasn’t that of any coastal community. He was definitely an inlander and likely from a place no more coastal than the Bronx.
“Fascinating,” I replied, trying to sound sincere and yet not wishing to enter into a long conversation.
“Name’s Al Giordano,” he said and offered his hand.
“Parker,” I replied, shaking his hand.
My gaze swung back to the sunbathing brunette. Now a dark-haired athletic fellow and a blonde woman were standing near her blanket and talking with her. Her paperback was laid facedown onto the blanket where she had stopped reading.
The three of them stood there talking and smiling and I had almost forgotten entirely about my new pal Al when the dark-haired guy looked up the beach and threw a wave in my direction.
Had the brunette told him she’d caught me secretly ogling her? Had she described to them my pathetic swimming?
My thoughts were broken by a shadow falling across the sand, the shadow of an arm in motion as Al returned the wave and stood.
“You know him?” I asked.
“Yeah, he’s my boss. In a sense.”
“On your sea-faring job?”
“Yeah. We work for NUMA. Maybe you’ve heard of my boss. His name is Dirk Pitt.”
Of course I’d heard of him and his exploits. Something of a mix of treasure hunter Teddy Tucker, Jacques Cousteau and a dash of James Bond. And it was just that bit of Bond that had me concerned for my chances with the brunette. Pitt is an unrepentant ladies man.
“We’re going to the bar for a drink. You can join us if you like, Parker.”
My gaze hadn’t left the brunette -- my brunette -- even as she packed and gathered her things. Then she stood on long, shapely legs and Pitt slipped an arm around her waist and similarly collected the blonde with his other arm before giving me and Al a glance over his shoulder and walking away with them.
“So that’s Dirk Pitt?” I asked flatly.
“Yup,” Al confirmed. “We both work for NUMA and are the creations from the imagination of Clive Cussler. He’s around here somewhere too.”
I watched Pitt walking away with the catches of the day and that swagger I had read about in his many adventures.
Al looked after the figure of Dirk Pitt and the two women walking along with him further down the beach. “Quite the guy, isn’t he?” Al asked, seemingly in admiration as he began walking after them.
I’m sure my reply seemed churlish but I couldn’t help that. “Nah. Somehow I always imagined him taller.”

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby Melo_the_Great » Mon Nov 29, 2010 4:06 pm

It was 7 pm. The sun was setting, the temperature was dropping, and the children out on the street began to retreat to their respective homes little by little. I had my milk in a kettle on the stove, ready to be created into a lovely cup of hot cocoa. I stood in front of the stove, getting ready to pour the hot cocoa mix into a mug when suddenly; I heard a noise outside my front door. It sounded like a quick gust of wind, but I knew someone was now standing outside. The person was panting, perhaps out of fright or from panic. I tip-toed to the front door and looked through the peep hole. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There, on my door step, was a man I knew to be fictional until this very moment. It was Severus Snape, Potions professor at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He seemed troubled. Stress lines creased his forehead, his skin was pale, making him look patronus-like in the now glittering moonlight. He had taken a seat right at the top doorstep, putting his back towards my door. After debating whether or not I should open the door, I did.

“Excuse me sir, are you alright?” I asked.
“Leave me be,” he said, mumbling the world muggle under his breath.
“Well you can’t just sit here on my doorstep all night. The temperature will drop much lower as the night continues. Why don’t you come inside?”
“You don’t even know me,” he said, turning to look at me straight in the eye. His black eyes were as fierce as they were described in J.K. Rowlings books. His voice was deep and mysterious, might I add, very unsure and untrusting.
“Of course I know who you are. You’re Severus Snape! Now what brings you way out here to the Western World? Shouldn’t you be at Hogwarts fulfilling your role as Headmaster?” he stared off for a couple of seconds before answering. I knew I had hit a sore spot.
“Yes. I felt it necessary to disappear for a moment.” He said. Clearly something was on his mind. I wanted to help; I couldn’t leave him here, vulnerable in the state he was in and definitely not in the attire he was wearing. Thank God no one was around to stare.

“Well, Severus. I think it might be wise for you to come inside while you’ve disappeared from Hogwarts. Please, come in. I cannot leave you out here alone,” I insisted. He stood up and moved past me into my now dark living room. I didn’t get a chance to flip the light switch, Snape had already muttered the Lumos Maxima charm, lighting up the whole room. He sat down at the breakfast nook in the kitchen and sighed. “You know…” he began, looking to me for some kind of enlightenment as to what my name was.


“Yes, Melissa. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you the whole story of which I am unfortunately part of. Everything is becoming unbearable for me. I feel like the burden is on me instead of that Potter boy. Albus forced so many responsibilities on me. It had to be me to swear a fake allegiance to the Dark Lord. It had to be me to keep an eye out for…Harry. It just had to be me to kill him.” I thought Snape would begin to weep, for his voice quivered a bit when he mentioned killing Dumbledore, but he kept his composure. Instead, I wept, for without my asking, this man poured his lonely soul out to me and I felt deeply sorry for him. He told me how Harry’s eyes were a constant reminder that he had betrayed the woman he loved. He lamented his love for Lily Evans Potter. This man was torn in between doing what was right for Lily’s son, and what was wrong for his allegiance to Salazar Slytherin, and most of all the Dark Lord. Suddenly, he stood up and walked towards the front door. Before opening it, he turned to look at me and if my eyes did not deceive me that moment, I know he smiled at me.
“Thank you for listening. For a moment, I did not want to carry on with the road ahead of me but speaking to you lifted me. Perhaps you’ll see me again.” With that, he turned, muttered the charm Nox, returning the room to its original darkness and disapparated. I never saw Severus again in person, for he died not too long after our meeting. But before that, every now and then his patronus, a beautiful doe would appear on my front lawn and that’s how I knew he still remembered me. That’s all I needed.

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RE: Your Favorite Fictional Character - 10/5

Postby jmeml517 » Tue Dec 07, 2010 9:38 am

When it had become my everyday routine to stake out the corner outside table at the local Starbucks and write, I wasn’t sure. But it was close to home, and the staff didn’t care how long you stayed. Since my novel-writing was going excruciatingly slow, this was helpful. My main character was in desperate need of cash, and I couldn’t figure out how to get it to her.
My index finger tapped at the j key.
Then a flurry of green velvet went by, wide enough to take up the entire sidewalk, and part of my table. My coffee cup slid and wavered dangerously. I barely caught it before it splashed all over my keyboard.
Whoever was in control of the vast skirts stopped, the heavy velvet swaying under the force of its own weight. The accusatory voice was thick and smooth as honey, and decidedly Southern.
“Excuse me?”
I looked up, past the skirts to an impossibly small waist, gloved hands and a parasail. A thin face with large green eyes, nostrils flared open in offense. A small hat of the same green velvet, perched dramatically on her head.
I gaped at her.
“How dare you speak to a lady like that,” she rebuked me. “Especially a lady of my standing. Don’t you know who I am? Or has Atlanta society fallen so low?”
“I… I…” I couldn’t get an answer out. What does one say when Scarlet O’Hara appears in front of you? I looked around, desperate for someone to confirm what I was seeing. The sidewalk was conveniently empty. I spit out the first thing that worked its way to the front of my brain. “This is Princeton. “
“There is no Princeton in Georgia."
“Georgia? You’re in New Jersey.”
“New Jersey!” She took a deep breath and looked off to the side, thinking. “I must have gotten on the wrong train. Well, it does explain your rudeness. You Yankees don’t know any better.”
“Sure, that explains everything,” I mumbled.
“Yes, a wrong train.” Her head snapped around. “You have to help me. I have to get back to Georgia. I have to see…” She paused. “Well, I have an appointment to keep.”
The dress gave her away. I could hear Mammy fussing at her as she took down the curtains. “You’re going to see Rhett in jail, to get tax money for Tara.”
She sucked in a deep breath and flushed bright red. ‘Why, I… How do you know about that? Do you know Rhett?” Her eyes narrowed into slits and she leaned in closer. “Are you one of his women?”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “No, I am not. I just… know Rhett.”
“Yankees,” she repeated disdainfully. “Well, I suppose I’ve no other choice. You’ll have to do.”
“Do? Do what?”
“Get me back to Atlanta, of course,” she huffed. “Now, go fetch me a carriage.”
“Fetch you – man, I can see why Rhett left you!”
“Left me!” she screeched. “Rhett would never leave me! Rhett loves me! Why, I left him after was so stupid as to join the army.” She hoisted up the hem of her skirts in preparation of her grand departure. “I never in all my life! Why, I wish we had licked you nasty Yankees!”
“Good luck with Rhett,” I teased her. You’re not getting any money from -“ I stopped mid-thought. Of course! My character’s old boyfriend was lingering in jail on drug money charges. She’d appeal to him for cash! “I gotta go,” I said, shutting my laptop. “I have to write this down before I lose this thought.”
“But… but…” The skirts dropped. Scarlet looked at me pleadingly. “But where will I go? What will I do?”
“Frankly, my dear…” I stood and struck a pose, then dropped the act. “Nevermind. I’ll let you hear it from him.”


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