He reached for his phone to check the time. 6 minutes later, he realised he was on Instagram. He put away his phone. After a brief pause, he reached for his phone to check the time. It was 9:03 PM.
Ashton had a pen to his temple. He stared agonisingly at a draft of his novel, where the lead character was extremely meta, but lacked any personality. “Heh, just like me”, he thought. “Do I even wish to write this novel? I have no direction for Troy in this story. My laptop battery is dying, and this pen I carry to look cool is not helping artistically speaking. Why bother?”
“Huh, I never get the time at a round number. Almost like someone else is telling my story, and if it’s exactly 9:00 PM, it would appear a made up time. Although, I guess, if my story-teller has the same thoughts as I do, they probably would show me the time as 9:00 PM to throw me off, so I guess I’m not just a character in someone else’s story”, he comforted himself as he realised he was on Instagram again.
“When did that happen? What time is it?”, he mumbled.
He looked to the top of his screen. It was 10:00 PM.
“Oh boy!”, he exclaimed, and followed that up with “Why am I saying all these things out loud? Ah, darn, my storyteller is insecure and wants to flaunt all the variations of ‘he said’, doesn’t he? I guess I can tell my therapist my childhood trauma is not really to blame, and it’s actually my creator who has an insecure personality. Does that make me a theist? Huh, that was a weird tangent. Creator might have a low attention span. I wonder if he too has ADHD like me. You think I am written in his image? Damn, that sounds theistical again. Hehe. sounds like testicle. I should maybe pause in my thought so creator has a chance to flaunt his limited vocabulary again.”, he gasped for air as a bullet through the window pierced his skull killing him instantly with no chance of another thought. Later on, all doctors and scientists would agree that all his final thoughts were stupid, and that he deserved to die for being a bad person with stupid thoughts.
Akash had a pen to his temple, and a sniper rifle on his shoulder. “I should really learn the brand and make of this sniper rifle if I continue using it. But for now, I had to take care of that meta-asshole, before he said things he would’ve regretted. I bet he believed he was the protagonist of this universe, when it is clearly me. A well-behaved, good, old “meta-but-not-so-much” Akash.”, he atoned to himself, without wondering if atonement was the targeted action he was vying for.
“Anyway, time to use this pen which I carry on my temple to mark this kill.”, he thought as he scribbled “Time of death: 10:02 PM. Cause of death: Force Majeure.”
He proclaimed to himself “Force Majeure would be an amazing name for my sniper rifle”
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