Greetings and welcome, it is I, Richard Kingsley, a long acquainted friend of the narrator whom you, the reader, refer to as Alastair Duncan. Worry not, he is still enjoying his time with Elizabeth inside of his home whereas the two of us here right now are currently inside of Alastair's "mind" so to speak. It is as anyone would imagine the average human mind, one whole galaxy of pure thoughts where each star that shines brightly is an ideal, thought, or dream waiting to be expressed.
If you are still curious as to why I pulled you in here and away from Alastair's narration, it is because I have found the reason as to why I was born. Within this confined solar system, there lies in the center of it all, a great sun that burns differently from other stars. As they all are lit fervently by joy, passion, and hope, this sun that represents my being carries a very different aura than the rest of them. In times such as now, where Alastair is within the presence of another, I am able to ponder and contemplate about my existence and the conundrum of this sun.
It was only when he began writing his current story did I feel a sense of belonging. It was as if, my existence felt validation and that I had no reason of being me any longer. As everything in this world is temporary, so was my feeling of fulfillment that subsided as Alastair suddenly threw a fit and ripped that specific story into pieces. It tore me apart to see those papers ripped into shreds and it pained me, even more, to endure six months of empty creativity dwelling within his mind, consistently waiting for Alastair to find happiness and to save me from this wretched life.
Within those six months, I was able to discover what I was to him all along; I was an excuse and a liability to him. I realized that I, the voice in his head, was a subconscious creature with the sole purpose of limiting himself. It all began when I was but a small whisper of doubt within his head and now, I have been given a shape that resembles Alastair and a soul of independent thought. With this soul, I began to realize the weight of my actions against Alastair for I had always belittled him and discouraged him even though I was merely nothing. Throughout the time, my hatred grew against Alastair for giving me the burden of life but eventually, I realized that the only way for me to be free from this life was to give Alastair this so-called "love" and "care" as a friend.
On that day, when he told the beginning of his story to Elizabeth, I could already infer from his expressions that he felt satisfied for once. It is indeed true that I wanted him to regain his passion for my own gain but, I felt proud for him in that tiny moment like a father watching his child learn his craft. The soul that I have been given had become a greater mystery to me than the purpose I previously had. Unlike my past actions that were empowered by instinct, this feeling that welled up inside of me was backed by my own desire. It came to me that the one thing I wanted the most in my life was to finally see Alastair happy and carefree without any troublesome thought consuming his future. In simpler terms, I want to die for Alastair's sake.
However, encouragement was not enough for Alastair to become happy for there was one more obstacle that I had only discovered until now. It was his sense of individuality that had become a problem to himself for he had nothing that could separate himself from other authors.
It was only when I read his words did I realize how unoriginal Alastair was. He idolized the authors that inspired him and was even determined to become similar to them in writing and possibly in ideology. Miserable was the only word I could use to describe this discovery and what made things worse was that he would determine the value of his own life through the eyes of Elizabeth at one point.
Conflict might be the only solution Alastair has to break free from the standards of others. If I were to corner him, then maybe he will be able to learn to stand up for himself and defend himself properly as a man. For when life is backed into a corner, it is not promises or petty words of encouragement that cause it to fight for survival but its own will and instinct that inspire it to free itself.
A farewell and a proposition to fight are the two things that I have arrived upon and I am determined to be the one to confront Alastair of his problems and to be the one he defeats in order to regain rightful control over his life. This is my farewell to the quarters of his mind, and as I go, let it be known to the other voices as well. Not of Alastair's but to you, the readers, do not let those alien voices uplift you nor let them discourage you. For as there are those who are like me, let only your voice carry you to the path that which you must take or, as Alastair would say, the voice of God, a higher being, if there is one to rely upon. If there truly is a higher creature that surrounds us all, I pray that Alastair will be guided well into eternal happiness and that he will tend to as many flowers as he pleases. Now, we must return to Alastair within his home.
A week has already passed ever since Elizabeth's visit and the short story I completed, but I fear if I were asked to write another, I might lose the words and material as I speak. I sat alone in the lounge lost in my thoughts and the dark evening wondering how I should treat the ideas that come into my mind.
"Then write what comes after anyways" Richard came out of nowhere suddenly and answered as if he could accurately read my mind.
"It's been quite some time, Richard, I feared that you may have run away with some other person." I jokingly said, unknowing of his odd, pained expression
"Tell me, Alastair, why is it that you keep writing? We both know that you never wrote with passion, until now that is, with your new story." Richard said as if was insulting me.
"Why don't we take this outside? I'd love to feel the cool breeze while we talk about this." In an attempt to control my anger, I calmly asked and luckily, he accepted without hesitation most likely because the sound of the running river was what calms me the most.
"You shouldn't ignore what I'm trying to say to you, Alastair, there's already a precedent as to why you shouldn't continue writing." He was annoyingly infuriating at this point like he was trying to test my short temper.
"What is it that you're trying to say? We both know that it was my calling and I have no reason to throw it away." I stopped walking and stood just a few steps away from the river as I spoke.
"A calling that you have slowly grown to despise." Richard shot his words at me. Not even the soothing sounds of the wind and the river running were able to calm myself.
"Watch your words" My anger grew and manifested within my speaking.
"Or what? Will you walk all the way to Elizabeth's home and ask her to wipe your tears away as she sings you a lullaby?" As his words constantly abused my heart, I charged towards him with my fist clenched tightly to hit him. The punch landed on his face but no signs of bruising were shown. It became an unexpected surprise to both of us that I could finally touch him with my own hands. This discovery fed my wishes to have Richard finally gone from my life and also gave my enemy an opportunity to strike.
"Do you want to know why, of all things you've ever written, this book was the only one you couldn't finish?" He continued to speak as he pushed me down into the river in front of my house, "It's because of how much you really hated yourself, Alastair, and of how you've grown to despise your own will." He walked into the river as well when he said that.
His words kept cutting deep inside of me like a dagger sinking deep into my chest. However, I refused to falter and to believe his words.
"Your words make no sense at all, Richard, why not elaborate further?" Once I finished my question, I grabbed a small stone from the river and bashed his face but he was able to grab my arm as it was moving towards him.
"Of the many books you've ever written, how many of them reflected your thoughts? Your character? Or even your being?" Richard tightened his grip as he said those words, but I was able to break free as I bit his wrist to free my hand.
"All of them, Obviously!" I shouted as I started kicking him down, "How dare you try to lecture me about these things? Do you not understand how hard I worked for this life of mine?" My questions assaulted him and Richard then retaliated by grabbing my foot to make me fall into the cold water.
"Then why is it that you were unable to write? Were you still wanting another author's work to teach you how to do it?" He crawled over on top of me to put his face close to mine and shouted those words. Fortunately, as he did not hit me, I grabbed his waist with my legs and flipped him over to make me the one on top.
"First, you insult me, then you insult others? Tell me straight to my face, what is your answer? What is it within my life that has caused me to falter in my works so much so that I had even given up on it." My rage took full control of my words and body as my fists also spoke directly towards his face. However, I eventually lost my stamina quickly within seconds.
"Then perhaps I must tell it to you directly, Alastair." Richard spoke calmly as the water that ran alongside his face, "The reason why you could not complete it at all, is because you were not the one writing it in the first place."
"What?" He had my attention so suddenly that he was able to keep my body from striking so I may hear him better.
"As many other authors existed in this world, Alastair, you imitated as many as you could when you picked up the pen and claimed their ideologies as if they were your own. You thought that if you could write the same words, the same ideas, and the same style, everyone could have loved you as they have loved them." His words were bitter to the soul, yet there was also a sweet essence knowing that this was the truth that I had never noticed.
"Know this, Alastair, from the moment you dropped the pen months ago, you refrained from your work because you felt something was wrong. You thought that it was wrong to give a genuine piece of your mind when you write because of your insecurities, but I am here to tell you that it is not so. Forsake the words of others and write with only the words that come from your own voice, Alastair. I don't want you to look up to others for strength nor do I want you to think of yourself inferior to the works of others." As he finished those words, he placed his hand gently on my cheek and looked at me with such gentle eyes. His body, then, started to diminish slowly into the running waters like sand washing off of the shore.
"Then help me" I begged for his guidance, "Teach me, Richard, how must I write with my own self?" I tried gathering his dust-like pieces that flowed down the river but to no avail, he continued to fade away.
"You will be able to teach yourself that, Alastair, I am sure of it." More and more pieces of him began to fall off as more and more tears rolled down my face, "And keep this in mind, remember me not." All of his body finally flowed down the river, and so did my tears follow him.
The blood that I thought was present in my body was no longer there. Physically, I felt as if nothing happened at all, yet my mind still held his words intact and the pain I felt from our fight. My body stood up from the cold and depressing waters then walked towards my cottage door. The light cheerful wind and the calm soothing waters were heard louder than before as if my senses have awakened. As I entered, my whole cottage felt as big as a mansion with only me inside of it, and the silence that followed only crushed my soul. I prepared a cup of tea and sat alone by the table with only my thoughts to converse with.
To the left of me, I stared at a window from where I was seated. Looking deep inside my eyes to see if there was any other voice inside of me but the only voice and name I could recognize was my own. Deep inside, there was only me and a burning fire that called me to action. The words to complete the book has come back to me, and now, I must work.
Again, I sat down before my table and laid down the paper and pen. I rewrote as much as I could recall until I finally approached "that" part of the story where I had abandoned almost everything. This time was different, as everything became louder, so did my thoughts and when I write, I can feel a more powerful feeling of creativity flow through my pen.
Forgive me, Richard, for I have already made up my mind and have chosen to remember you for all my days. I had only realized that when you asked me to tell this story again you were actually encouraging me to find my own voice. I want to remember and I want to learn from those bitter days so I can finally know what it means to endure the unknowing future.
I am indeed scared, Richard, I am scared to express what I think because I used to think that invalidation from others will be the cause of my ruin. Now, I have gone absolutely mad. I forgive you for all the times you have made me despair and envious of others, but I cannot forgive the world that thought they could determine the value of my work.
I will continue to write this story, Richard, but once I finish this story, I might as well destroy this terrible world.