(Narrators Note: To keep the story flowing and coherent, this next section will take the format of a script rather than that of a book. This is done for your own good. Just trust me, this is the only way this section can make a lick of sense)
Open in a messy room. Books, crumpled paper, and pencils scatter every inch of it. In the middle of the room, there stands a desk with a man sitting at it. He is writing something when suddenly a door behind him bursts open.
Ishmael Enters
Ishmael: dear god.
The narrator spins around in his chair
Narrator (In a cheery manner): Oh good, you've finally arrived! Please, please take a seat.
The narrator moves him over to a decrepit old rocking chair
Narrator: I know it looks a bit beyond its years, but I tell you it can still swing with the best of them.
Ishmael slowly takes his seat, being very particular in how he sits down. He was surprised the seat was still standing when he had finally put his full weight onto it. The Narrator crosses the wreck of a room and begins to make coffee.
Narrator: How do you take yours?
Ishmael: My what?
Narrator: Your Coffee. Personally, I hate the stuff, but I think you like it quite a bit.
Ishmael (Confused and Somewhat Frightened): How do you know I like coffee?
The narrator picks up a dirty old coffee pot and in an instant, it goes from dirty to clean. As if that wasn't strange enough, it also seems to be filling itself. Once it is filled to his liking, the Narrator places the pot into the coffee machine, and it begins to heat up.
Narrator: Well, that's simple. I created you. You see that big ol pile of paper over there? (He motions to a stack of paper sitting in the corner of his room) That's you.
Ishmael (Starstruck thinking he's just met God): Wait, ar-are you God?
Narrator: Man, I sure hope not. If I am, then I'm doing a pretty horrid job. I mean look at how many lives I haven't finished yet!
He gestures to all of the papers scattered around the room.
Narrator: I've been having some real writers block as of late. So, in about 50 or so years if people seem to be awfully boring, that's my bad.
Ishmael: So, you wrote my life?
Narrator: Guilty.
Ishmael (In a realization induced rage): So, you're the reason I couldn't think for 29 years!
Narrator: Hey, don't take up that tone with me. Don't you forget, I can always do a rewrite on you. And besides, you try writing unique lives for millions of people for thousands of years. It gets hard to come up with new scenarios for people to live after a while.
Ishmael: B-but why me?
Narrator: Why not you?
There is a sad pause that lingers in the silence for a moment. Then the narrator takes the coffee off of the heat and pours it into two mugs. He puts one into Ishmaels hand.
Narrator: I'm sorry that I made you go through that. If I am being completely truthful it's easier for me to write sad stories than happy ones. When you go back, you'll notice that.
Ishmael: Go back? Wait, I'm not dead?
Narrator(amused): Dead? Now where'd you get an idea like that? No, you're not dead? You're just in a kind of coma.
Ishmael: COMA!?!?
Narrator: Oh, calm down, you're set to wake up any minute now.
Ishmael: May I ask you a few questions? Before I go back.
Narrator: Shoot.
Ishmael: um, why is my sister so sad?
Narrator: Your parents were terrible to her, and she was forced into adulthood at far too young an age. Next question.
Ishmael: Fair enough. Well, do I quit my job?
Narrator: I don't know, do you?
Ishmael (thinks for a moment before answering): YES! Yes, I do quit my job! Ok next question, what should I do with my life now.
Narrator: Well, I haven't written an ending for that Maria girl yet, so if you could go out and find her, that'd be really nice of you.
Ishmael: But how will that help me?
Narrator: You can't stop thinking about her, can you? When you close your eyes, you can still make out every detail of her face. Is that right?
Ishmael (filled with a mournful feeling): yes.
Narrator: That's your reason. You need to find her for closure.
Ishmael: Isn't that a little creepy? Going on a grand quest just to track a woman down.
Narrator: I mean only if you're planning on doing creepy things. Are you planning on doing creepy things?
Ishmael: No, I am not.
Narrator: Well then it should all be perfectly fine!
Ishmael: So where do I go to find her?
Narrator: Oh well, I can't tell you that.
Ishmael: Why not?
Narrator: Wouldn't be a very interesting story if you found her right off the bat. This is now your journey. All I can advise you to do is take Swisters boat instead of the hush money he offers.
Ishmael: Wait, hush mon-
At that moment, a hole opens beneath Ishmael, and he begins to fall sore back to earth. He whirls by all of the planets and stars, even flying through the moon, before he enters earth's atmosphere. He zooms into a hospital room and crash lands back into his own body. His torso launches upward as he wakes up.
Ishmael(out of breath): I NEED TO BUY A BOAT!