Unfortunately....some freak accident....made your animation computer screen explode in your face - killing you just one hour before your billion dollar meeting with the Disney corporation people.

You had been working on a scene of cartoon Billie watching tv in her living room - when your screen just exploded.

The pain was excruciating- but you couldn't get up because there was too much electricity frying you alive.

As soon as your body burst into flames in your chair you closed your eyes - ready to be taken to your maker........

Your body turned cold.....

Then.....

When you opened your eyes again......

You weren't in your animation studio being burned alive.

You were standing in cartoon Billie's living room........and she was hiding under her couch giving you a dirty look.....

and she was hiding under her couch giving you a dirty look

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"........Billie?" You asked confused - sure you were just hallucinating in the final moments of your death.

"- What the fuck are you and why the fuck are you in my house?!" Cartoon Billie cried, reaching her hand out to grab a bouncy ball as a weapon.

You tried to explain to the hostile cartoon character that you're her creator - but she didn't believe you.

She had never seen anyone like you in her cartoon world.

You looked down at yourself and realized you were still a regular human!

You hadn't been animated like Billie and the world you created for her.

You told cartoon Billie that you're a human - but she just said, "What the hell is a human?! You look like a virus!"

Then she said she was going to "smudge" you.

You didn't even know what that was - you had never seen that term written in any of your scripts.

You wished you had a way to talk some sense into cartoon Billie but she was already screaming for help.

"- VIRUS! VIRUS! VIRUS! CONTROL ALT DELETE! SYSTEM REBOOT!" She was calling out from beneath the couch.

Nothing happened.

You just continued to stare down at a wide eyed cartoon Billie yelling about you being a virus that needs to be deleted.

If only you had proof to show her you weren't a virus.

If only you had a picture of you with the real Billie!

A bright purple portal opened up in the ceiling of cartoon Billie's living room - a carefully manufactured rainbow colored scrapbook falling from the hole - and landing on the table by the couch - before the portal closed.

Billie screamed, before throwing the bouncy ball at you and missing.

Ignoring her, you hurried over to the scrapbook!

It wasn't animated!

It was real!

You opened it up to find dozens of pictures of you and the real Billie.

From the day you first met - to behind the scenes studio photos - red carpet events and even your birthday parties from the last few years.

You brought the scrapbook over to the couch and sat it down on the floor - in front of cartoon Billie.

Then you pointed to the pictures of you and the real Billie - as you explained how cartoon Billie was just a drawing of the real Billie....a human - like you.

"- That bitch isn't me! I don't look like a virus!" Cartoon Billie cried, still not believing you.

"Well in this world you look like a cartoon. In my world you look like a human. Virus's don't have faces. They can't even talk!"

".....They can't?" Billie asked.

You shook your head no.

She looked shocked as she finally climbed out from under the couch and stared up at you.

".....So you're not a virus?" She asked.

You shook your head no once more.

"Are you.....God?" She asked.

You shook your head no again, not wanting to be striked down to hell.

"I'm your creator." You told Billie again.

"Like..... a parent?" She asked.

Before you could respond cartoon Billie ran forward and wrapped her arms and legs around your leg in a hug.

"- Finally! You're here! I've always wanted my own parents!" She squealed.

You hadn't come here to be cartoon Billie's guardian..... did you?

Cartoon Billie was excited....you didn't want to let her down.

You were glad she wasn't treating you like a virus to be deleted anymore.

You created Billie after all.....how much harder could it be to raise her as your own daughter?

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