i'm sorry its short but idc
The school was fucked. The thing that was so fucked about it, was that there wasn't one. It was a Monday, so I had literally got up and sprinted to the bus stop. I thought I'd missed it so I went to the school, but everything in front of me was white. I could only assume it was because the author hadn't written about it.
When I was walking back, someone put their arm around my shoulders. Ashton. He was exactly the character I didn't want to see, because he was the one reminding me this wasn't my world. But the one I definitely didn't want to see was his girlfriend, Kylie.
The one who had brown hair that cascaded down her back. The one who wore a floral crop-top but complained she was just ever-so-fat. The one with truckloads of make-up on, and the author let you know just how much. But she was so poor that she had a fucking iPhone.
We sat in a booth, and my bag had magically disappeared, as well as my interest. I twirled my straw in my milkshake, just wanting to smash my head against the table as Kylie dragged on about her brother, Harry's messy mop of curls. But I couldn't do anything, just sit and play along with the story.
"So, what about you? What do you do?"
"I worked as a dish-pig at – "
"Aw, you work? How cute!" Kylie interrupted.
Nobody ever worked in stupid fucking fanfics. I thought, slumping in my chair. Then there was a hand on my thigh, and I couldn't help but wonder where the fuck I was in the story. Ashton never made the move until chapter ten. Things are changing.
"I need to go home." I said, suddenly thinking about the book.
"Oh, hey, uh, I have this party tonight, do you want to come? I could introduce you to a few guys."
"Sure. Pick me up?" I asked, giving him a quick smile.
I headed home straight away, ignoring my perfect family and shutting the door. I opened the book.
As you may have noticed, things are a little different than the story you originally read. You are the kryptonite of this story. You can change it, because you are the only actual living and breathing thing here. Things you do affect the story greatly.
If you have any concerns, please ring this number.
Under the writing was a number that literally had about twenty digits. I pulled out my phone that had been replaced with the newest iPhone and called it. "Hey, what the fuck is this shit? I'm trapped in a fucking story?"
"It was all in Wattpad's new layout, sir,"
"I didn't say anything about wanting to go into the story." I fumed, pacing around my bedroom, feeling uncomfortable at the thought that it was mine.
"Well, technically, you didn't not say anything about wanting to go into the story."
"How do I get out?"
"But I don't know the end."
And then the line went dead. I wanted to punch something. Oh god.
I refrained from doing such things by sitting down and clenching my fists so hard that my palms started to bleed. After a long while of just sitting there like a statue, trying my best not to lash out, I snapped into action.
I knew what to do.
I wouldn't go to the end. The end would come to me.
Sorry this is v v v v v v short. No inspiration ew.