Wild Fiction

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The author clenched his fists and his cheeks flushed red. ‘Before you get carried away with yourself there’re a few things you should know,’ his voice was menacing. He had brought his emotions under control. This was not the time to let his feelings for her influence the outcome of what was about to happen.
‘You’re the only fictional so far and that’s why you’re the main character. If I profile a better model, she’ll displace you. Do you remember the film Cliffhanger? The beautiful girl dies right at the beginning letting us know that all bets are off.’ The author drew in a deep breath. ‘But none of that matters if you roll this car and kill me. If I die then there’s nobody to write the end of this story. No one will ever know that you existed. You’ll die in my mind when my heart stops pumping blood through it. Keeping me alive and writing is your best hope for survival my dear.’ The author let out his breath and his shoulders drooped back into the seat.
Rebecca frowned and rubbed her index finger against the side of her nose. ‘This isn’t how fiction works. The author doesn’t negotiate with the characters. The characters make the author, not the other way around. You’re talking crap,’ she laughed as she turned the key and revved the engine. Rebecca pulled the car into the traffic and the author watched as she intimidated the other drivers by racing up behind them. The muscles in his face twitched as he clenched his teeth at each close encounter and the whites of his eyes stood out on his face like boiled eggs.
He turned his head and took a long hard look at Rebecca. Her eyes were searching the pavements and the faces of people and paying little attention to the road. The adrenaline rush brought on by her driving was beginning to subside as the author realised that she was an excellent driver. The fluttering returned to his abdomen and he put a hand to his forehead and brushed the clammy layer of sweat backwards and into his thinning hair. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before clutching both his arms across his chest and moaning.
‘What is it?’ Rebecca asked glancing between him and the rear-view mirror. A racing green TVR was trying to get past behind them. Every time it swung out to overtake them, Rebecca swung out to prevent it.
‘Asthma,’ the author wheezed. ‘I’m having an asthma attack. Take me to the hospital.’
‘Christ,’ Rebecca said. ‘Why does this have to happen now? Things were just about to get fun with the bloke in the TVR,’ she thumbed over her shoulder.

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