I can’t write about what I see. Everything would just come out as a jumbled and flustered mess of words. I’m a victim to my own imagination. I can’t think up anything of actual substance, because I’m fixated on creating as many ideas as possible.
I’m thinking “maybe, out of one of these pieces of shit, I’ll find something that I can polish.” It never really comes. You can only polish a turd so far, as they say. Not that I’m giving up, though. I’m going to keep shitting out as many pieces as I can, and somehow, I’ll improve. I won’t notice, it, but I’ll improve. My pacing will get better. My vocabulary will expand. I’ll be more in tune with my thoughts. I’ll type faster. Everything will be OK, I tell myself.
The lights flickered, and a sharp intake of air echoed through my eardrums, reminding me of another presence.
“And what about the interactions? The thing you said you were good at?” A voice interjected.
“I didn’t finish my point yet.” I replied, not looking back at her.
“It’s always ‘her.’ Why not ‘him?’ Does everyone have to be a potential love interest for you to be able to do anything with them? Is everything motivated by romance? Is my gender really that important?” She slammed her mug down a little harder than usual. “Tell me, o gracious creator of mine. Why am I a girl?”
I pursed my lips. I raised my hand to hold my chin, but lowered it back down. Was this the time to be serious? Was she joking? Isn’t this getting a bit too self-aware?
How should I fucking know? “I don’t know.” I said.
“You -” Her eyes bulged out, and her eyebrows disappeared under her bangs.
“No, look. I know what you’re gonna say.”
“Of course you fucking know what I’m going to say -” She took another sip from her mug. “You’re – you’re still writing this shit out, right? You’re ‘designing’ me, right?” She shook her head, nose wrinkling in disgust. “You… this is a part of the romantic development, right? You’re going to start off with me being ‘rude and aggressive,’ then, as we spend time together, somehow, out of the fucking blue, I fall in love?”
I froze. She’d read me like a book. All I can do at this point is tell her that she’s right. I gulped.
Just kidding. “Look, man, I think you’re being a little quick to assume what I’m doing.” I looked back at her condescendingly. It’s not even been 500 words yet. If you somehow fall in love, there’s gonna be a reason, alright? It won’t be out of the blue, because I’ll still set shit up. I’ll still give development.” I reassured her. “Look, nothing’s gonna -”
“And what about the other male characters?”
“As in, what if I fall in love with some other dude?”
Ah. Shit. I bit the inside of my cheek. “You, uh…” This is the type of conversation best left to drunken late nights, I thought to myself.
She got up and walked over to me, whispering into my left ear. “You can’t escape the fact that self-inserts have faults, Leo.” She walked away, and the trail of her words lingered in my mind as I walked back to my own room.