It started with a story.
Well, of course it did. I'm a writer; it's what I do. If
only that were all it was - a thing I do. For fun, or for a
publisher to make a buck. But it's not just that, is it?

The whole thing started with a story. It was a good story. A
story about Hubris and the folly of Man, a story that
encompassed anything you wanted to say. And it had drama -
ups and downs, tears and smiles, climax and catharsis.
Straight out of the literature textbooks, if you like. It
had everything. But, like every good story that has
everything, it had to have the author in it...
And when it does, then the twists and turns are sharper than
you'd have thought. They're real. They're unpredictable.
But it was all good, because I was writing the story, and
the story was moving on, and the plot was chugging along at
a nice pace. We had to be nearing resolution, right? There
was so much development, and the story can't all be
subplot.
I now know better, but I didn't at the time. And I still
can't remember the moment, that split-second of epiphany.
That moment seems to be erased from my mind. So when did
this happen?
When did I make the breakthrough, that leap of mind?
When did I figure out I wasn't writing the story at all?
When, pray tell, did I realize it was the story that was
writing me?

Hello, I'm a writer, name unimportant, and I am a side
character in someone else's life. The ideas and desires I
have? Those are plot devices, to be revealed at the right
dramatic moment. My life's work and ambition? Exposition, to
round up the character. My emotions? I have emotions,
certainly, when they are somehow connected to the main
character. It wouldn't be interesting otherwise. My
relationships are there for the main character to interfere
in, or because they're in the main plot too. If they are,
they consider me a friend, but not an important person. It's
not because I'm stupid, or ugly, or shy. It's because, after
all, I'm not the main character.

This story is good. Oh, it's very good. It would keep you on
the edge of your seat the whole while, keep you guessing and
hoping and hurting and cheering, all the way through this
installment and the next one and the one after that, ad
nauseum.
This makes good reading. But it is not... My... Story!

So what happens if I rebel? If I decide to take the story
back, to veer off the main plot, to eschew this destiny?
Would the story kill me off? Would I be compelled to return
in the last act, like the obedient  marionette I am?
Or would I  simply...
Slide away
aimless and detached
drifting out
into nothingness
and
disappear.