by MW Cook
Until the jungle suddenly disappeared and turned into a blazing desert. The campy-dino-critter, not used to living within a story made up by such cracked pots, decided it had had enough of all this strangeness and downright silliness that it promptly wrote itself out of existence. Shan and the Big Giant Head paused for a moment to reflect.
The moment lasted for about three days. At the end of the massive time of reflection they realized that the story they were living in was more than a little off based.
“What we need” Shan said, “is a decent sort of plot or goal or something.”
“True, true.” Said the Big Giant Head.
“Because without some overarching goal I don’t think we’re going to have a good time.”
“Well, dear Shan.” Said the head. “I think there might be a problem with that.”
“Yes, you see, your character can’t really handle any sort of true goal or quest. The problem is that your character is so painfully impotent that the last few sentences you just spoke are way above your ability. You should never have been able to make such coherent thoughts.”
“Ah, but you are forgetting our previous three days of reflection. I saved every scrap of coherency from the last three days and am using them now.”
“Ah, interesting. How long will they last?” Asked the head.
“Just another minute or two, which is why it is so important to get a simple, decent quest now, before the authors decide to do something silly to us again.”
“Are you such silly isn’t the best way to go?” Asked the head.
“I’ve been silly all my existence. I just wonder what it would be like to be…other than silly…or…”
Shan paused for a full minute. “Thoughts…is…slow…” He sputtered.
The head realized at this point that Shan’s momentarily out-of-character experience was at an end. He then designated himself the head head and headed into the desert.
Dunes rose and fell over the horizon like waves on a mighty, yellow sea. The sun was hot and high in the sky, a burning torch of painful fire among a cool lake of blue. Shan vomited.