Markiplier: Once Upon A Time

~~Interactive~~

You stared at the blank white walls of the room you were in, trying with every ounce of effort in your body to decipher why you were there. 

What is this place...?

Only silence answered your thoughts. You began to expect the room. No doors, no windows, and no furniture. Only a light on the ceiling. This is where it begins. 

Think, reader. Think. Your mind is all you need. You are trapped in a room of my creation. Tell me, reader, how do you escape?

"I don't know!" You shout. Don't shout at me, reader. "You're the one making the choices. Why are you asking me how to escape? And how am I hearing all this anyway? And why did it change from past to present-tense?"

You would be asking the right questions right now if it weren't for the fact that you're trapped in this room. How do you think I would want you to escape?

"I guess... I could look around..." You grumble reluctantly. Examining the room closer, you find the walls all have numbers on them. 1, 2, 3, and 4. Your posture fixes itself as you look at the ceiling. 

"Do you want me to break the fourth wall, author?" You say. I nod in agreement, though am clearly not seen by you. "I can't break the fourth wall. You're the one writing the story."

The wall crumbles because you acknowledged it. This wasn't breaking the fourth wall. The wall was just so flattered by the sudden attention that it collapsed into a heap of giggles and blush. The wall is not accustomed to such appreciation. 

You step out into a pitch black hallway. I just finished watching Markiplier's Outlast series for the second time, so half my brain is dark halls and lil' piggy. You roll your eyes at my stupidity and begin traversing the dark tile floors, hands feeling the peeling wallpaper calmly. Nothing can hurt you. This is a fanfiction. 

"Doesn't much feel like one anymore..." You mutter. I heard that. I'm writing this story, missy. Shush. 

To prove you wrong, Markimoo appears beside you. See? Fanfiction. I am the best damn author in the world. You roll your eyes again. 

"How did I get here? Where am I?" Mark asks. I step out to let you explain to the confused man. 

"The author is playing a game with us, I gue--" I choose to end your sentence because it's not true and it hurts my feelings. I am not playing a game. I'm just trying to get back into writing. Let me work, weenies. 

As the hall ends, you see a single door. Well, it's not technically single. The door presents itself as single because it's marital status with the bedside table in the other room hasn't been going well. The bedside table cheated on the door with the shotgun. After being caught, the shotgun tried to shoot itself. We aren't going to talk about that. 

"What is wrong with the author?" Mark asks. The door opens to reveal a sunny field of flowers and grass. Shut up and frolic, my children. 

You shrug and grab Mark's hand, pulling him out into the field. The sun beats down on you like a-- that's a bad analogy. You sit down among the varied flowers, Mark sitting beside you. There is a moment of peace before the author informs you of the giant man-eating snake slithering your way from the forest to your left. 

"DON'T YOU DARE IMPLEMENT GIANT SNAKES INTO THE GAME!!" You shout. I shrug, once again unseen. Suddenly, mannequins surround you. Mark closes his eyes. 

"Snake please..." Mark whispers. In a fury of anger towards both the mannequins and myself, you begin wrecking them thoroughly. Plastic heads fly everywhere. Within a couple moments, plastic parts litter the ground. I put the thoughts into your minds that maybe the mannequins were alive and now you're a murderer. 

"Bull. Shit." You are stubborn. But think. It's my story. 

The mannequins were real. They wanted friends. Nice going, asshole. 

"It's not my fault!" You start playing the blame game. "No, that's NOT what I'm doing!" Yes. Yes it is. You finally give up. I am far too stubborn to ever give up. 

The chapter nears it's end now. I begin wondering to myself what happens after I end a chapter. Does everything just freeze for eternity? Does it cease to exist? Does everything die? Did it never exist to begin with? I wonder if there's ever a way to figure it out. 

You look up at your wall, realizing you have been frittering away several minutes of your life staring at some words on a screen. Oh yeah. You have a real life. You close the fanfiction and continue living the life you own. And my friend, your author is proud of you. 

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I lean away from my computer, my music still continuing as I slip my headphones off. I wonder what I should do when I step away from the keyboard. Maybe I could eat. Perhaps go to bed. Paint? I don't know. The wave of sadness washes over me. Another chapter done. Another universe locked away in it's own vault, left forever on a screen. 

The hardest part of writing is knowing it will end some day. I try to shake the idea, but it never leaves me alone. I constantly will contemplate a point I made in this chapter. It's haunted me for a long time. I sigh, knowing it's time for bed. 

What happens when the chapter ends? What happens when the screen is off? I will forever wonder...