Jack spent the next few hours writing in the book. He changed everything he wanted to change. He made himself smarter, stronger, richer, happier. He gave himself a new family, a new house, a new car, a new girlfriend. He made his enemies suffer, his friends admire him, his teachers praise him. He created new worlds, new races, new adventures. He became a hero, a king, a god.
He felt a sense of satisfaction and joy that he had never felt before. He felt like he had finally found his purpose and meaning in life. He felt like he had finally escaped his boring and miserable reality.
He closed the book and looked around. He expected to see his new life reflected in his surroundings. He expected to see his new family waiting for him downstairs, his new car parked outside, his new girlfriend calling him on his phone.
But nothing had changed.
He was still in his old room, in his old house, in his old town. He was still alone, poor, ugly, unhappy. He was still Jack.
He opened the book again and checked what he had written. Everything was there, exactly as he had written it. He didn't understand why it didn't work.
He tried to write something else in the book. He wrote "I have a million dollars in my bank account." He checked his phone for his balance. It was still zero.
He wrote "I have superpowers." He tried to fly, to lift something heavy, to shoot lasers from his eyes. Nothing happened.
He wrote "I am handsome." He looked at himself in the mirror. He still saw the same face he hated.
He wrote "I am happy." He tried to smile. He still felt empty inside.
He realized that the book was not working anymore. He wondered why.
He flipped through the pages and saw that the last page he had written on was the one that read "One Monday afternoon he went to the grocery store...". The next page was blank.
He remembered that he had read that page before he grabbed the book. He remembered that it was exactly what had happened to him.
He realized that he had written himself into a loop. He realized that he had trapped himself in his own story.
He panicked and tried to erase what he had written. But the ink was permanent and the paper was indestructible.
He screamed and threw the book across the room. It landed on the floor with a thud.
He heard a knock on the door.
"Jack? Are you okay?" It was his mother's voice.
Jack felt a surge of hope and relief. Maybe it was all a dream. Maybe nothing had changed.
He ran to the door and opened it.
"Mom! I'm so glad to see you!" He hugged her tightly.
She hugged him back and smiled.
"Hi, honey. I'm glad to see you too."
She looked at him with concern.
"Are you feeling alright? You look pale."
Jack nodded and tried to act normal.
"I'm fine, Mom. Just a little tired."
She frowned and touched his forehead.
"You don't have a fever, do you?"
Jack shook his head and smiled weakly.
"No, Mom. I'm fine."
She sighed and smiled again.
"Okay then. Well, I'm home early today. I have some good news for you."
Jack felt a spark of curiosity and hope.
"What is it?"
She took his hand and led him downstairs.
"Come on, I'll show you."
She took him to the living room where there was a large cardboard box on the couch.
She opened it and pulled out something wrapped in paper.
She handed it to Jack and said:
"Happy birthday, Jack!"
Jack looked at her with confusion and disbelief.
"Birthday? But my birthday is not until next month."
She laughed and said:
"I know, I know. But I couldn't wait any longer. I wanted to surprise you."
She gestured for him to open it.
"Go ahead, open it."
Jack tore off the paper and saw what was inside.
It was a book.
A black leather-bound book with golden letters on the cover that read "Author's Authority".