Wild Fiction

‘Don’t even think of it,’ Genevieve said. ‘Before you’ve made one step towards it I’ll have this lever over and the hard disk will be as confused as a dyslexic spelling dyslexia. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just wipe this out of existence and get my life back to normal? I know she’s one of them. I realised that when she left.’ Genevieve’s grin widened on her face. Her lipstick had smudged at the edges of her mouth, giving it an insane clownish quality. The whites of her eyes sparkled from within the black mascara painted eyelashes. A vein was pulsing between the two golf ball sized lumps on her forehead. The lump caused by the author bashing her head against the banister shone grey and black. The new lump, white and red, had a streak of blood in the middle.
‘Please, I beg you, please don’t,’ the author dropped to his knees and clasped his hands in front of his chest.
‘One good reason,’ Genevieve repeated. ‘You have until the count of three before I pull this lever and bang, everything goes. One. Two...’
‘Because you’re one of them,’ the author shouted. ‘If you destroy that story you’ll destroy yourself as well.’
His voice echoed off the ceiling in the silence that followed. Genevieve’s and Rebecca’s faces turned blank as the anagnorisis sunk in. Little clogs and wheels turned behind their eyes as they looked at each other. Genevieve’s hand fell away from the lever and hung limply by her side. The author walked over to the plug and kicked it out of the wall.
Genevieve pushed herself onto the edge of the desk and sat facing the author. ‘What about my childhood, my brother, my parents, our marriage, the horses…’ she trailed off.
‘I created it for you. I wanted you to understand where you came from, build your character, give you a background. Everybody has a background, even she does,’ he said pointing at Rebecca. ‘Luckily we haven’t needed to bring it into the story. She didn’t have a very nice childhood.’ A tear ran down the author’s cheek and he wiped it away with his hand.
‘Is she why you wouldn’t let me read the book?’ Genevieve asked. ‘Were you afraid that I was going to have her edited out?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is she my replacement? Were you going to get rid of me? Replace me with her?’ Genevieve pushed herself off the desk and folded her arms across her chest.
The author shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘I don’t know what I was going to do. I hadn’t thought that far ahead. We’re only half way through the book. I don’t know what’s going to happen next.’