Wild Fiction

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James looked at her and lines formed across his forehead. ‘I didn’t know a character could do that,’ he said. His eyes shifted away from hers. ‘We didn’t realise we were fictional, that it was someone else’s story and we were merely players. It was only when the plot became tangled and he couldn’t find a way out that the author revealed himself to us. That’s when Conrad escaped and the author abandoned the story and dumped us back down here.’
Rebecca suddenly felt very confident and a sense of power welled up inside her. She felt as if she had won that motorbike race she had dreamt about. A feeling of euphoria surged through her body soaking into her muscles and setting her fingertips alight. It was as if someone had stabbed a syringe full of heroin directly into her heart and it was now pumping through her body. Capturing and releasing each tendon, each nerve, each joint and then repeating the circuit with renewed intensity. Her head rolled back on her neck and her eyes rolled back in their sockets leaving blind glistening white flesh staring at the ceiling. Her body shuddered involuntarily as it absorbed the sensation.
After a few moments she straightened her neck and blinked. Her irises sparkled blue around their tight black pupils.
James had backed away from her. His face was even paler than before which she had not thought possible.
‘Relax,’ Rebecca said, the smile broadened on her face and she let out a little giggle. ‘I just had a power orgasm. It’s perfectly natural and nothing to worry about. Stop doing that with your shoulders.’
James’s hunched up shoulders sank back into their normal position and he smiled nervously back at her. ‘A power orgasm?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said her eyes widening. ‘A self-induced orgasm from a sense of ultimate power. It’s what makes leaders want to be leaders.’
She held his gaze and he nodded back at her but did not speak.
‘How do we get out of here?’ she asked.
James looked towards the window at the other end of the basement.
‘Show me,’ she said walking to the other end of the room. The small window was set eight feet from the ground and impossible to reach.
‘We have a ladder,’ James said running his eyes up and down her body. ‘Maybe you should wear something else if we’re going to climb through it,’ he suggested.
Rebecca looked down at herself. The cream linen Chanel dress suit the author had created her in yesterday was crumpled and lined.

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