Scene 37


[AUTHOR is sitting in front of a typewriter]


Perhaps it was cruel. But I had to do it.

[AUTHOR shakes her head]

Of course I had to. There was no other way. Nothing else I could do. If I’d left them they would have created havoc. Messing up stories and creating rebellions. The world would be full of characters that had worked out how to write their way out, and we wouldn’t know where we stood. People would create their own worlds that were perfect and it’d ruin everything.

[AUTHOR picks up mug but it’s empty. Puts it down again with a sigh]

I mean, they won’t feel anything. They’ll forget it was ever at all different. I won’t put them back in their own world—not yet. I don’t have the time and the energy to start writing it again. I’ll leave them here. They’ll have free will and they won’t know that they’re characters, so I won’t have to worry about that.

[AUTHOR picks up a single sheet of paper]

Look at this. One sheet of paper. I’ve written one page—that’s all. I’ve only got four days till the end of Script Frenzy and I’ve ninety-nine pages to go. It’s impossible. I can’t do it. If it weren’t for Ellie and Kate I would have a story by now. Well, they’d be in it—if they hadn’t ruined everything. Now I’m going to lose my first year, and my writing buddy’s left me in despair. What should I do?

[the phone rings. AUTHOR picks it up] 


Author? We need to talk to you. It’s about Script Frenzy. 


Kate? Is that you? But how—you’re supposed to have forgotten—how do you know who I am?

[it’s recognisable as KATE’s voice though tinny like over a phone.]


You got the timing wrong. Ellie and I had an argument, remember? We weren’t together when the asteroid hit. She came to me having lost her memory and when talking to me it partly came back. We both know who you are.


This is all going wrong!


Can we come over? I think we’ve got a solution. An idea at least.


All right, I suppose so. And bring Ellie.


Will do. But if we help you, will you give us our memories back?


No promises, but maybe. Just maybe. It depends on how much you help, to be honest.


All right. We’re on our way.

[the phone clicks and AUTHOR returns it to its cradle. She stares at the typewriter, writing nothing. Finally she picks up the sheet of paper and tears it into little pieces, throwing them into the air] 


What’s the point? That was rubbish anyway. No, it’s better if I do it this way. Start from scratch or do nothing at all. I can do this in four days, right?


The End

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