[i will write a story in your name]
——xxx——
Words had power.
The power to come to life, to exist and create realities that originally didn't exist. Words and stories were the foundation of life, hiding within every person and thing. They were the base, the center, and the finishing.
And sometimes, it was easy to forget that every person had a story, as plain as it might be.
Click.
[For the end of this tale, no happy ending existed. In my heart I understood that, but there wasn't a person alive who wouldn't despise that.
Yet, even with my quiet desperation, any lingering hope faded away, struck dead by that figure on the throne. My mind was dizzy, but I understood—this story of mine was fated to be a tragedy.
Then through crimson stained tears, I closed my eyes.]
The hand typing at the night-black keys paused, seeming to hesitate for a moment, lingering over the buttons before decisively pressing on the 'Enter' key.
A beautiful image depicting a collapsed, handsome male stretching his bloodied joints towards a deserted throne was attached.
There was a fading determination in his sharp eyes, coloured by divine, snowy hope, as a collapsed world surrounded him. An odd loneliness carrying a sense of silence was felt from the tragically beautiful image.
The owner of the slender hand leaned back in the window's curve with a soft sigh.
Diiing—
Dooong—
A long hand twitched but didn't move, remaining on 11:42 in the large frame, as the inner gears shifted, but continued to rebel without moving. It had been broken for so long, but nobody bothered to fix it.
Rays of light filtered in the dim room, painting it in the day's orange hue as a slender man stared ahead, pale eyes fathomless. It was enclosed, and the outside world was far away in this secluded space, gears tinkering high above in steady movements.
With a click of a button, his story had come to an end.
The famous web novel he wrote in a year, finally completed. He wasn't sure how his readers would react, nor did he care.
It was the only ending he could see through the haze of melding ideas that wandered through his thoughts.
Sometimes, the ending could only be a tragedy.
Buuuzzzzzzz.
The man fumbled around in his dark jacket pockets that had been hastily placed in a pile on his lap, pulling out an old phone.
It took him a moment to turn it on, pressing several times on the power button before it finally decided to remain awake. He should probably get a new one, but he couldn't afford it.
"Hey Lucas, what the hell were you doing?"
Lucas paused, shuffling back more comfortably as he asked casually, "What?"
"What do you mean, what's up? What's up was the fact that you were supposed to show up today, and you didn't! Did I not remind you like, a dozen times? You keep doing this!"
"....." He glanced at the time absentmindedly and then quickly turned to reply. "Oh. Sorry."
There wasn't even a hint of apology in his tone. The man on the other side seemed to have expected the uncaring response, but was irritated all the same. Why did he even bother calling each time?
"Seriously? That's it?"
"Would you like me to go back in time?"
There was a long sigh, and then a strong hint of frustration. "Shit. You're always like this, but the leader hasn't kicked you to the curb yet. Ain't nobody knows why. I'd say it's about time though, really."
Lucas didn't hesitate to respond. "I'm charming."
"Don't you love yourself a little too much?"
"No. I love myself the most, and that'll never be enough."
There it was, that irritating trait of this mysterious delinquent. Cold and indifferent on the surface, but often shamelessly saying words without a care in the world.
The reason behind it was, in fact, intentional and done with purpose.
Somebody, long forgotten in his memory, once told him that the easiest way to shut somebody up was to say something so ridiculous that they couldn't respond.
It was a pretty useful tactic, and Lucas had taken to it so frequently to shut people up that it was a natural, ingrained habit by now, words slipping from his mouth without a second thought.
Ah... it really made people want to hit him a few times. Maybe a few dozen.
The man on the other side resolutely ignored him (lest his sanity disappear). "...be there at the usual location at 6 o'clock sharp. Even the boss can't stop your punishment if you're late again."
"O—"
Click.
Without giving Lucas an opportunity to respond, the call hung up. Lucas stared at it, then pushed it back into his pocket as his gaze lingered on the chapter he just completed.
He wasn't really worried about the punishment—the last one ended with him being locked up and the guard crying about how annoying Lucas was.
Not that he thought it was his fault that time—he got bored sitting in the room after getting a beating, and decided to chat up the other person.
Was that his fault? No, it was theirs for locking him up.
He turned his attention back to the chapter. Honestly, from the perspective of a reader, these sorts of endings were the worst.
The sort where another cliffhanger was left, or the main character died for no particularly good reason after a long struggle. It really made a person annoyed, though Lucas was the one who wrote it.
Not that it mattered.
When he was younger, writing was one of the many things he wanted to do. After watching a cinematic masterpiece, he had wanted to be a film director or an actor. When he tasted a melting, sweet work of art at a cafe by chance, he had considered being a patissier.
It was a short-lived fantasy, one after the other, none of them succeeding. Of course, how could one succeed when their passion was only momentary?
Then, his most recent interest that had flickered on and off throughout the years came from a random book he found in the local library that seemed interesting.
Something about a boy and his adventures with a winged turtle?
Now, a year and a half later, he finally finished the story.
He didn't expect to finish it either, but the scenes left his mind like old memories flowing onto paper, and he wrote, and wrote until it finished.
No matter how he tried to think of another ending, he couldn't.
Well, he wasn't particularly attached to it, not when his hobbies never lasted for long to begin with. Of all the jobs he thought of doing as a child, he ended up with one that had only been a passing thought.
At five years old, after watching a person dressed from head-to-toe in black beat somebody up in a dark alleyway, he had wanted to become a gangster.
Often, children at that age might feel fear and run, but the young child had peered into the scene with intrigue.
Although he never really thought that now, at the age of twenty-six, decorated in piercings and tattoos, would he become one of the many fighters in the largest group in America.
Of course, it wasn't really something any person would dream about seriously, though he wasn't complaining. In life, things went off path at times and all one could do was continue to walk.
Walk to whatever ending awaited.
Lucas Silvius was a person who lived comfortably, not harshly.
But in a way, this sort of life was a hopeless sort, one with aimless wandering. He thought this, brushing back his raven hair, messily tying it back with an old rubber band he had been given by some lady a few years back, and stood up.
There were some strands that stuck out, two longer parts beside his face loosely hanging, covering the middle of his face slightly as well. He couldn't be bothered fixing it.
Suddenly, a strange feeling washed over him. His lips tugged down as his head seemed to tremble momentarily, before the sensation faded away as fast as it had come.
There was a spike of anxiety, his pulsing heat, and for a second his vision blurred together, and he couldn't see. His vision dimmed, and he was temporarily blinded.
Lucas didn't know why, but he scrambled for his phone again, fingers sliding across the screen to his most recent chat, squinting to make out the black and white splotches. Not that he chatted to this person often, but this person often came to him to proclaim their love over his novel.
What was he doing? Not even he knew, as instinct took over.
You are reading story Of Everlasting End at novel35.com
[Lu: Are you there?]
[cam0311: yes, sir! what can I do for you?]
The reply was almost immediate, as always.
Lucas paused, wondering if he was overthinking. But even if that feeling was ridiculous, his fingers itched to type out the question.
[Lu: Did you like the ending?]
[cam0311: ending??? ENDING?? that's weird... i've been online all day and i haven't seen it. i'll be right back!]
[cam0311: hahaha author, i adore you but have you just made a rare joke?? there's no update, i triple checked]
The frown on his face deepened as he lowered his eyes, the soft glow of light making his confusion more evident.
[Lu: Not a joke.]
[cam0311: ...? wait... ah? the story was deleted? it won't let me open the chapter! AHHH NOOO!!]
"......" The strand scratched against his eyes and his scowl deepened in irritation.
As soon as he tied his hair again, the world suddenly roared to life as the tremors violently ran through the ground. Lucas's eyes widened in surprise as he jumped forward to grab something to hold, only to crash into the ground and tumble against the stair railing.
Through the pain, he gritted his teeth while cursing, quickly grabbing onto the railings as tightly as he can.
For safety measures, he pushed his shoes between the space in between, firmly trapping himself in the metal bars as everything swayed.
Really, staying up in the tall clock tower was probably the worse choice, surrounded by little gears and mechanisms that could collapse on him at any moment.
Kiiiik— Kiiiiiik—
The gears ground against each other to fill the air with a painful, ear-splitting sound. Lucas uttered more curses, more vulgar this time, before he presses against the railing even more.
Screw looking decent!
His entire body was wrapped around the railings like a monkey clinging onto a tree as his eyes crinkled at the corner from being squeezed shut. He continued to mutter curses like a mantra as his body was tugged and pulled.
"...tsk."
Getting crushed by a bunch of heavy metal pieces that may or may not take a long time to completely kill him?
Yeah, no way. Lucas wasn't a masochist.
Finally, when the shaking subsided, he struggled to wiggle his foot from the staircase's grasp, grabbing his laptop and rushing down the stairs. He grabbed the metal railing and pushed off, swinging his whole body over as he arrived at the bottom in a flash.
However, he was huffing like crazy.
Sure, he was a delinquent who participated in fights almost daily, and he was damn good at it too — but after almost dying in an earthquake in a not-so-painless way, then jumping down an entire set of sketchy stairs, he was a little tired.
More like very exhausted. He was also born naturally lazy, and preferred not to move around if unnecessary.
But it was quite thrilling.
Exciting, even.
Regardless, he tiredly dragged himself out of the building and was immediately surrounded by chaos and screams. Loud.
Some were panicking, hiding wherever they could, while others were trying to figure out the situation while the earthquake subsides. Cars were flipped over, alarms were blaring, and there were likely to be several people who had died, crushed under the sheer weight of toppling items.
Humans were ones that often behaved the worst in the face of unexpected disasters, evident from the scene before him.
Although this much was only the beginning. The worse wouldn't leave them panicking and desperate, it'd leave them praying for the salvation from death.
A cautious woman walked over hurriedly, brushing over her messy white hair carelessly. Faded purple strands sway, revealed by her movement. "Are you alright? I saw you run out of the tower."
Her voice remained steady, though panic flashed in her eyes. He noticed her hand gripping a bag, draped over her front, knuckles pale and trembling.
Lucas nodded calmly, his gaze sweeping over the scene indifferently. "I'm fine."
"Good." She seems to examine his body up and down, and after meeting Lucas's glance, she quickly explains, "I know basic first-aid. I'm checking for injuries, sorry."
"I see."
"Well, it was best to find somewhere safe for now." said the woman with a sigh, rolling up her dusty sleeves as she surveys the area. "I was going to help some other people, but most aren't in a good enough state right now. I need to go find some help for the seriously injured. Do you want to come along?"
Lucas looked around through his cloudless eyes and nods again.
"Brilliant." She smiles, looking a little relieved. "My name's Nora, how about yours?"
"Lucas."
She looked around once more and says, "Just be careful if the earthquake starts up again. Although I'd like to help others, it was best to put your own life first."
"Of course." said Lucas, hands in his pockets.
Honestly, he wasn't much of a people person, not because of his lacking skills, but because of his typical solitude. The fact that Nora was more of the assertive, leading type was easier on him—all he had to do was to follow and listen.
There was still that unsettling feeling in his chest, pushing and probing.
It was convenient too, allowing him to observe quietly from the back. Not that Lucas was quiet (he's annoying, most say, though he disagreed), far from it.
Creeeaaaaak.
Lucas stopped in his footsteps.
Slowly, he turned around to stare at the clock tower where a little shadow sat. With soft white fur and blue antlers, wings folded at the back softly, it seemed like a gentle doll.
Although it was cute, Lucas felt like it was smiling at him.
[The story 'Cinderella' is opening...]
[A number of new characters had been found! Merging profiles with the story...]
[Confirmed! The story may be read!]
Nora listened and frowned in confusion, turning to Lucas. "Do you know what that is?"
"I..."
Lucas looked back at her. At first, he thought little about it, but now he knew it very well.
In this entire world, the only person who was aware of this as well as him was only himself. But the only thing was, it was impossible. He isn't a realist, but this much was crossing the line a little too far.
A story exists because it was a story. Fiction could not become reality, even if one were to desire it. That was the law of the world that separated delusion.
He turned to Nora to tell her, "it was probably nothing." Only for his words to get stuck in his throat as another clear ringing filled his ears.
[The story 'Cinderella' has opened!]
It was impossible, it really was, but it was also something he couldn't forget, when it remained so vivid in his mind.
How could it not, when those words once slept peacefully in his imagination, slowly awakened as they drifted onto his blank screen.
Almost a year and a half ago.
Behind the strange, smiling bunny, the clock that had been broken for several years slowly begun to move.
Creeeaaaak.
The bunny's smile seemed to grow even wider, bright under the morning skies. A void of madness swirled in its pulsing eyes, peering through one's soul.
<Now, dear characters, let me tell you the beautiful tale of Cinderella.>
The voice echoed all around, vibrating in the air. Childish laughter followed.
<A tale of beauty and selfishness.>