The morning had come, and the heat of the sun's rays had made my bed uncomfortable to lay upon. My body, moving upon its instincts, stood up, stretched, and walked towards the dining area for breakfast. Being that my home is a small cottage, it took no longer than a few steps to reach the dining space from the bed. Preparing the kettle in the fireplace was but an automatic function of mine yet what constantly keeps my senses vigilant was a familiar voice that would greet me every morning.

"Good morning, Alastair" A voice had spoken to me.

"And a good morning to you as well, Richard" I responded and turned around to prepare the table with a plate and silverware.

As I made the table more appropriate for breakfast, Richard asked if I wanted assistance. I gave him a stern "no" and sat down at the opposite end of the table where Richard was so that I may wait. I do know that accepting help from a person would be a more polite choice, but I must make my reasons for denying him known.

This man, Richard Kingsley, who dwells within my home and possesses my very appearance and physique may be considered as a fellow human being but, I would very much prefer not to call him an actual person. To put it simply, Richard is but an extension of my subconscious thinking and is constantly present within my life as a companion that only I could perceive with all of my senses.

Frankly, I do not have one concrete idea as to why Richard exists nor could I discern if his presence should be deemed as beneficial or a hindrance upon my life. One might say that Richard is a product of past traumas and others may say that he was birthed from my loneliness and my longingness for another human's comfort. After all, if I were to delve into the realm of superstition, I might as well consider Richard as my demon. Though there might be a possibility he is a guardian angel, I would rather not entertain that thought considering how its probability is set too low.

"Alastair" Richard called to me suddenly, "Your tea is boiling."

"I see, thank you." Unable to recollect what I was previously thinking of, I hastily put out the fire and prepared a small plate of bread slices to go with my tea. As I turned back from the fireplace and onto my table, I was still disappointed to see my imaginary acquaintance still present and still smiling from the other side of the table.

I sat down and thought to myself where I could ask him to leave. On the eastern side of my home were the front door and two wardrobes on each side with windows that were placed above those wardrobes. To the west was my bed and a shelf filled with books, perhaps I could ask him to pass the time reading. To the south, opposite the fireplace and table, was the lounge. With so few options, I decided to send Richard off outside my home so that I may finally eat in peace.

I pondered what errands might be needed to be done today as I ate and drank. "Perhaps I have nothing to do today," I thought, considering how I'm not occupied by studies such as medicine or law but rather literature. Now that I've finished breakfast, I put away my wares and prepared a bucket to water my garden outside.

As I entered the outside world, I felt the sun's light shine on my face and heard the running waters of the river that was just a stone's throw away from my door. My shoes were left on the front doorstep because I thought it would be nice to experience the warm texture of the grass blades as I walked down to draw water. Walking down the level ground, I could see the lively and bustling town square that lay beyond the crystalline river. The name of the country that held the town square and my quaint home is called Greenberg, known for its wide green plains that segregated my home from the town square. It is also the place where I spend most of my free time since I rarely venture into other unknown lands.

If I'm not preoccupied with anything else today, I thought to myself, perhaps I should pay a visit to any old acquaintance who may come into mind. Then again, it would take an hour's trip to and from the square on foot; and spending that much time walking would feel like the season has changed by the time I arrive.

"Have your thoughts taken over your body, Alastair?" Richard interjected my thoughts and gave off a light chuckle as he sat by the river.

"Frankly so" I answered and finally drew water into the bucket

"Well then, what plans does the day have in store for us?" Richard asked,

"I have not been asked for anything today nor do I recall making requests to anyone.", I said as I walked over towards the garden and poured water into the plants.

"It seems that we will spend the day as lifeless husks as usual?" Richard seemingly gloated as he spoke.

"Perhaps, that is, if you also have no plans for today?" I wore an annoyed smile as I asked him.

"No, I have no intention of going anywhere, since I won't be able to converse with anyone other than you in this world." Richard sighed at the thought of being alone.

An awkward silence began to overtake the two of us since we have practically nothing to talk about.

"Do you remember the previous story you had been working on? I take it that you still have not come up with any more words to write in it have you?" Richard came up with a question to maintain a lively conversation.

"Yes," I answered in disappointment, "In the middle of writing it, I seemed to have given up on it suddenly and without proper reason."

Inferring from our exchange of words, it is true that I am an author of sorts. Though I do not freely or proudly admit it, I write only short stories that even children might come to grow fond of. My stories do make a fair sum of money for me to be able to purchase food and to pay bills or other taxes. However, the story that Richard attempts to bring up is what could have been the longest one I could have accomplished had I not given up so easily.

Upon thinking about it, it felt strange that I was to stop halfway on what I was writing; and it felt even worse knowing months had passed ever since I have written a line of fiction. My thoughts became uneasy and my mind now faltered because of how I've simply put a pause on my passion and my livelihood.

The bucket was now empty and so were my thoughts. Even then at that moment, I still could not conjure any essence of fervor for writing, maybe it was time for me to pick up another profession.

"Well then" Richard interjected, "I think it would be best for you to tell me about your unfinished work. Even though I may be an uncontrollable branch of your consciousness, I have a separate mind from yours and perhaps I might even grow to like your work." He made a presumptuous statement.

"Nothing is entertaining from hearing an unfinished story, Richard, we might as well resort to another subject if you pry further like that." I responded with anger in my tone.

"I am fully aware of how you might hate talking about it but I am also aware of how you felt that your work was of great importance to you." Richard's words are now seemingly making me confused.

"What makes you think you can make a proper deduction of how I feel?" I asked.

"I have been a part of your life ever since you had published your first work. Though I do not possess your ideas and memories, I can always infer what you might be thinking based on your mannerisms." Richard proudly stated.

"If it were to be true, then you must know how frustrated and willing I am to strike you right now." I dropped my bucket as my aggression towards him grew more.

"Now, now, Alastair, you mustn't be so angrily aroused by these feelings you hold towards your work. Should you not cherish them all as if they were your children?" His attempt in calming me down had barely any effect.

I sat down amid our conversation and laid my back against the exterior wall of my house. His words held a good point about my relationship with my work. Knowing that such a long time has passed ever since I last held the pen, it felt as if my child had run away from me or it could be the other way around where I ran away from the responsibilities of my work. If only I had the same passion I held when I was younger, sensible words and beautiful fiction would come flowing into my mind again.

"Yes, perhaps you're right for once, Richard, is there something else you would like to add or ask?" I admitted that he was right and let him decide what our next topic might be as we continued to talk.

"I still would very much like to know of the story you left undone." Richard answered, "I think it might be best for a story that might not ever see the public eye to be at least made known by someone like me. Besides, I practically don't exist in this world." Though he was only asking politely, I mistook his request as an attempt to belittle me.

In an attempt to calm myself, I stood up from the ground and changed the scenery of our conversation to the quiet interior of my home.