Wild Fiction

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Rebecca walked around the room and looked into the other boxes. Most of the bodies lay completely motionless. Unlike James, their chests’ were not rising and falling with the slow steady breathing of sleep. Her ear-piercing whistle had disturbed none of them. She felt a knot in her stomach. Are these people all dead, she wondered? Am I in a tomb or is this purgatory. Swathes of grey cloth wrapped many of the bodies. They reminded her of an Egyptian mummy she had seen in the British Museum. Her visit there was a strange memory. Almost implanted, contrived. She could not remember anything else about the visit, just the Egyptian mummies.
Coming a full circle she ended up back at the box with the label that read “James Sloane.” This time, she kicked it much harder. The box shook and so did his body. Still, he did not wake up. Leaning forward she grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him firmly.
‘What?’ he said opening his eyes and rolling over. She leapt back as he sat up in his box and stared at her. ‘Who are you?’ he asked.
She backed further away, not taking her eyes off his face. She did not like the aggressive way he had questioned her. It scared her. She had a queue of questions lined up in her brain fighting to get out of her mouth yet she found it impossible to speak.
‘You’re another fictional aren’t you?’ he stated it more as a fact than a question.
‘I think so,’ she replied.
James sat up, rubbed his eyes, and brushed the dust off his chequered button-down shirt. He stared hard at Rebecca running his eyes up and down her body. It made her feel uncomfortable and she folded her arms across her chest.
‘I see the author’s been at work again,’ he said nodding his head. ‘Hard at work. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him produce anything as impressive as this.’ He stood up and climbed out of his box. James was tall. He stood six foot four, maybe five. He circled around Rebecca without speaking before returning to face her again. ‘Yes, I think he’s finally worked out how to create the perfect female form. What’s your personality like, what’s up here?’ he said tapping the side of his head.
‘I’m not sure,’ she said. Her bottom lip quivered and a tear rolled down her cheek. James took a step towards her. She buried her head in his chest and held him. The tears turned to sobs and her body shook. Once she had calmed down, she spoke. The events of yesterday came gushing out. Not in chronological order but understandable enough.
‘I’m scared,’ she ended. ‘All I remember is having a lot of fun until he had an asthma attack. We went to the hospital and when I woke up I was here.’
‘Relax,’ James said. ‘He’s done it to all of us. We’re all discards from his mind. Have a look around and you’ll see many others. Some of them he’ll never use again and they’ll never wake. Count yourself lucky. If you can talk, feel, and move, then he’s using you in a story. At least then you have a chance to live a life.’

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