In every story, there is a moment where the protagonist encounters a life-changing event. Some of these involve a fated meeting with a destined lover, others a tragic loss, or even the sudden discovery of new powers or abilities. These three plot devices together form the "Storytelling Triumvirate", or so I dub this unlikely alliance of themes. They are the key components to a bestselling story, and out of the many possible ways to begin the plot of a story, these three are used the most. While these ideas may take forms not so apparent to the untrained eye, they're still there, quietly and stoically shouldering the weight of entire epics.
But from far away, from the outermost regions of the cosmos, came another. It fell from the sky in a fiery deluge of blinding white pain and shocking suddenness. It did not conform to the orthodoxy imposed by the Triumvirate, nor did it yield to common sense. Despite the brilliance of its arrival, it was by no means a moving scene.
As you might have guessed, this plot device was mine.
A door to the face.
A literal, physical, and visible door, propelled at a painfully high speed, squarely into my face.
Allow me to explain why this event was so life-changing for me. For one, my nose hurt. That changes my life, since, despite appearances, I don't like pain -my appreciation of scalding showers aside-. The other reason might be less obvious to some: It was a girl that did it to me. To say it was a little embarrassing would be an understatement.
And that same girl stooped over my collapsed body, shaking from what I assume was stress, brought about by her culpability for my current state.
Upon asking about my wellbeing, she fell into quaking silence, frozen in place as though uncertain what to do next.
Slowly, I stood. The sensation of trickling blood tickled my left nostril and lip. Lacking any tissues to handle the situation adequately, I plugged the offending nostril with an index finger. Temporary, but effective, though I couldn't say much for the practicality of it.
"Don't worry about it. Just be careful the next time you open a door, mmkay?" Was my delayed response to the girl's mortified apology.
Well, that scratches my time at the store. I couldn't just walk around in there with a finger stuck in my nose the entire time. Without a doubt, my odd appearance would be the highlight of the store's, and by extension, the clientele's days, but I wasn't keen on the idea of holding their attention for any amount of time. It would be a little humiliating, to say the least.
So, I turned to leave. But my progress came to a halt when a tug on my uniform sleeve pulled me back.
The girl had latched onto my right sleeve, with a white handkerchief gripped tightly in her free hand. It was obvious she wanted to give it to me, though I didn't see any good reason for bloodying a nice handkerchief like that.
I smiled, "No, you don't have to. I've got it under control.
She shook her head and held it out even further. At this point, I couldn't refuse.
"Ahh... sure, thanks..."
Hesitantly, she released her grip on my sleeve. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide with fear. She scanned the ground near the door, presumably in search of something.
My sights fell onto the lightly-colored binding of a book. It laid on the right-hand side of the entrance, a meter or so from the door's center. It seemed oddly familiar to me... was it what I thought it was?
In a blur of motion, the girl snatched it up and stuffed it into a purse that swung into view from behind her back. I managed to confirm my suspicions in the split second the face of the book turned in my direction.
It was a copy of volume four of Judgement of Fantasia.
Heh, a fan, and another speculative author, no less? My nose be damned, I'm a freaking legend!
Though before I could probe her for more details, the girl was already off at a lively pace, her purse flailing about as she ran away at full tilt.
For several moments, I just stood there, contemplating a complex mixture of emotions. I didn't know what to think of that encounter. But what I did know, was that I had a bloody nose and a finger stuck in it, which was very poorly staunching the flow of the sanguine fluid.
I took a look at the handkerchief in my hand. It was just too pure white to dirty. Was it... lace? What the hell, what was that girl thinking, giving me something this fancy for a nosebleed!
My attention turned back to where the girl ran to. I intended to return it if I could, but she was nowhere to be seen. She already vanished into the distance.
Without the opportunity to give it back, I decided to simply keep it. Maybe if we met at the publisher, I could return it then.
And with that, I made my way back to the bus stop. The pain subsided a little while I rode the line all the way home, and the bleeding finally stopped midway through. While it was a little awkward to sit in a bus full of people with a finger in my nose, my will was unbreakable; under no circumstances would I use the lace handkerchief tucked in my pocket.
"Travis dear, what happened? Why is your nose bleeding?" My mother asked worriedly as she opened the door for me.
I smiled weakly, as I feigned indifference at my condition, "Just a bit of an accident, it's no big deal."
Either prompted by my mother's words or her troubled tone, my father charged into the foyer. At the sight of my bloody face, he jumped backward, his face aghast at the gory sight.
"Good Christ, Travis, what happened to you?!"
"It was just a little accident, nothing to worry about," I said, as I waved away his concerns.
"Was it bullies again? Did they assault you?" My father pressed. His face was getting red, and contorted from rage from just the thought.
"No, no, as I said, just an accident."
I would have told them the reason if it weren't for how humiliating the incident was for me. Better yet, maybe it was a good thing they didn't know; given I know how much my parents cared for me, they might have filed a lawsuit against the poor girl.
"Anyway, I'm gonna go get cleaned up..." I began, as I left for my bathroom upstairs, "oh, almost forgot, I won't be able to join you for dinner, I have some homework I need to get done."
In the bathroom, I examined my face. It was... a lot gorier than I anticipated. Though there was no external damage done, a blood vessel on the inside must have popped from the impact of the door against my nose. Large, crusty nodules of dried blood hung from my nose and trailed down to my lips.
Maybe I should've used the handkerchief.
With my face cleansed of the gore, I hastened to my computer, where my work awaited. There were three hours left. If I made the best of it, I could revise two chapters before submission time.
The monitor flickered on as I touched the mouse. Locked behind a password was all of my work, including the websites for all of my web novels, all on the desktop.
As I scrolled through the websites, I noticed something odd. Interestingly enough, there was a surge in activity in Judgement of Fantasia's website, which was surprising. These days, user activity had lulled there. Since the competition was done some time ago, it was only natural to see a decline in interest. But to see it surge again meant something interesting was happening.
I scrolled through the comment section. My brows furrowed the further I went down.
That's... a lot of hate. What the hell is going on?
From the newest to the oldest, there was nothing but scathing, sarcastic comments. They all appeared to be aimed at one particular user.
"Garden_of_Roses..." I muttered under my breath, "what did you do...?"
Buried under kilometers of replies filled with venom, I managed to find the original comment... ah, now it all made sense. It read:
"Hello, can I write a fanfiction about your novel for a competition, it would really mean the world to me!"
My hand clapped to my forehead. Yeah, that's going to happen. It wasn't that they did anything wrong, but to anyone unfamiliar with the set of circumstances behind their request, it would seem that, on the surface, they intended to simply plagiarize the novel's content. If someone brought that up, then it was almost certain to cause a firestorm of infuriated replies.
I leaned back in my chair. Should I answer them, or should I not? After my first meeting with Victor, Melissa, and Claire, I concluded that I had to refuse any requests for making fanfictions. It just wasn't possible to juggle both of my identities and those three all at once. For all I knew, this was one of them asking ahead of time.
"I can't be bothered with this right now."
With the impending submission deadline fast approaching, I couldn't deal with anything besides revising those chapters. So, I shoved it all to the back of my mind and began my work.
Oh... this is going to be stressful.