The Rabbit Hole and All It's Corridors

Do I Have to Explain?

The first thing my character felt when he woke was the pain coursing through him and the hard wet asphalt beneath his back. As the brittle icy breath was gasped into his lungs swiftly, followed by a fit of coarse coughs and hacks the character desperately tried to think. Though, incidentally, he forgot his own name, or how he had gotten to his situation. With this realization, he was thrown into a panic and desperately began to try to move. His eyes would not open, all he could hear was a muffled noise and a high pitched ringing. Attempting to squirm or figure something, each try was only rewarded with agony and raw soreness. "I can feel," he thought, "I'm lying on wet, rough, asphalt. I'm injured. I can barely move. Can I call for help? " Spreading his lips apart and attempting to make noise, his throat was scratchy and strained. He couldn't even hear if he had made a noise or not. Filling his mouth was the taste of blood. All this made hopelessness sink in his chest. "I'm going to die," he mentally cried, " And I wouldn't even mind." But that's not what readers want to hear. "What? Who is that?" the character thought in fear. You've got nothing to be frightened by. It's ok, you're not going to die yet. That would be rather disturbing to my readers like Trinity and Trenary. That is if they end up reading this. But that's beside the point. "Readers? Please, what is this? Can you help me?" he begged me. This is the story. You are the character. And yes, I can help you. After I said this my character regained his ability to hear and see. The starry midnight sky was all he could see and a bubbling creek, all he could hear. "Uh, thank you," he sighed out loud. Don't worry about it. But for future reference don't say what you want to say out, so it doesn't disturb other characters . Instead just think it, like this. After a moment he replied, Like this? And I nodded. He couldn't see it. But he knew I did. Which was kind of funny to feel and know. So, who are you? I am HowVeryUnfortunate, and the author. You can call me Mrs. Author. You also have a reader, who is reading this and bringing you to life. Say hello. Um, hello reader. I'm sorry if this is kind of bad right now, but, uh, nice to know you are keeping me alive right now. I chuckled. Well, your barely alive right now because they have no clue what you look like right now or what's going on. So we are on the level of knowledge? Cause all I know is that I'm injured on asphalt. I don't even know my name! Right, that's an issue. We'll name you later. Actually, I'll let the readers name you if I get a suggestion in a week or so, if not, I'm going to make you Jack or Sam. Oh thanks. Glad I have a say in the matter. Other people choose my name? Hey, it's the same for everyone. No one chooses their names. Wait... If you're the author, you put me here! Like this! Well, actually, I found you like this in a dream I had last night where I found one of my school friends bleeding out in an alley. I AM BLEEDING OUT! Only a little. ONLY A LITTLE? ARE YOU SERIOUS? I'M FREAKING DYING RIGHT NOW! Oh, come on. I already told you I wasn't going to let you die. DID YOUR FRIEND DIE IN YOUR DREAM? Uh... Sorry. But I promise you won't die. OUT OF ANY CHARACTER I COULD BE I HAD TO BELONG TO THE ONE AUTHOR WHO- His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. Who's there? It's the help I'm sending. You're going to pass out and the readers will hear about it next week. Wait! No! I'm getting sleepy. I know. Just sleep for now, friend. Until next time.