Hello, I Am Your Narrator

Test, test, test. Can you hear me?

Ahem, I am writing this now.

. . .

I wrote the previous line three second ago.

Now, I am writing the word, "Hello."

And yet, it would appear that you are reading this--also--right now. Good. The paradox is in effect, and we can now begin.

First, let me introduce myself. I am your narrator for the story, which is about to begin. It hasn't yet begun though, because I am still here, talking with you in this most peculiar room.

Now, if you were impatient, you could skip time and abandon me in this room, only to meet me further on when the story has begun. It won't matter so much to me; I will merely continue speaking to no one until I see you again in the future--when the story begins.

Still here? Well, that's swell because you won't want to miss what I'm about to say. This is the introduction, I'll have you know. There's going to be some important exposition. Or there is right now, for you anyways, if you chose to skip to it. I'll have to take my time though and write my way there.

Ah ha, here we are:

It begins in a most peculiar room. If you look around you, you will notice that indeed, we've been here all along. However, if you're having trouble seeing just what I mean by peculiar, perhaps I will describe it to you.

The room is painted brown and red and the carpet is patched with purple and blue. A fancy yet frail looking table is in the center of the room with a polished wood top, bare except for the lopsided, five-armed candlestick holder, which holds a pencil, a flower, and three ugly, purple lumps of wax. If you would be so kind as to step off of the muraled rug in the corner there and take a careful look at it, you'll notice that somebody is not familiar with the proper proportions of a human figure. I'd suggest not looking at it for too long or you'll start seeing things.

And over here to the right, you'll be sarcastically excited to know that the bookcase is full of books on law and politics. Even the mysterious looking books with the cracked, black, leather bindings. Only law and politics--I checked them myself, before you arrived. I too, was sarcastically excited.

Now, the far wall has a window. The window is shaped like a bubble that is being blown out of the window frame. If you were brave, or rather foolish, you could sit in the bubble and look down. But I suspect you would retreat rather fast upon looking down. Below the bubbled window, there is a forty foot drop into a pig sty. And that is not a figure of speech. There are pigs down there. Don't ask me if they have any signifigance to the plot, because I don't know yet. And in case you're wondering, I did not measure the forty feet before you arrived. I am not the all-knowing narrator you may be used to. Actually, if I were to tell you how little I knew, you might be afraid for the fate of the story.

Right. The story. Let's get on with it.

A distant thudding is heard, like the pounding of a young man's feet on a set of stairs--a man who cares not if he wakes the entire house.

The thudding approaches from down a long hallway and then, the door is thrown open. Indeed, I was right, it is a young man who is rather furious. But don't worry, like most stories, the characters cannot see you. See, I know these things because I was briefed before I signed up for this job.

But look now, the young man is rifling through the desk in the corner. Yes, I know--the desk I forgot to mention.

He seems to have found what he is looking for, and the rage in his eyes burns with a deep satisfaction. He holds in his hand, a piece of paper. Probably some type of powerful document. Hold on a second, I'll check...

Yes. It is a will. It is a will written by a most powerful man who has not yet died. The young man you see before you is the adopted son. He has been working for his father's approval so that he will be in higher importance when the will is finalized. His name is Edward and he is the star of his rugby team.

If you're wondering how I know this when I seemed like a complete dullard before, I'll have you know that I am actually rather good at what I do; I only need a few paragraphs to warm up. Once I'm in the right mind set, I start to know everything. And, once I start to know everything, I begin to get better at sorting through the details and delivering the appropriate information. I rather suspect the part about rugby is of little importance. I apologize for that. But keep in mind, rugby will be the least of your concerns if you start distracting me. If I get distracted, we'll end up somewhere in the far reaches of another world. Narrators have far too much power.

Anyhow--Back to the story:

The End

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