Meet Cute

It was a dead and dying summer.

Dead as in not leaving the apartment for fear of the sun destroying my pale-ass skin. Dying, as in the end of July, getting closer and closer to another semester of college classes and more of the same.

The end of summer should have signaled a change but it didn't. I knew things would be different, that I'd have to force my social skills to the forefront of my life and emerge from the comfortable darkness of self isolation. But despite that, I knew deep down that nothing would really change. It'd be more late nights stuck in my own head, more writers block and more hating everything I create in my endless attempt to fill the void.

Don't you love that feeling?

Disliking everything, every move you make, every little minuscule imprint on this huge world.

Yeah, that's my day to day.

Or at least it was, because now, I can say with the utmost confidence that I truly love what I've created.

Sorry for the tangent, those might be more common than I'd like.

I'm a writer; and yes, I see the irony, but It's important that it's immediately understood that I wasn't a very good writer. Maybe I'm still not a good writer. I'm out of practice to say the least; but after what happened at the end of that summer who can blame me? Anyway, I digress.

A few months before that fateful summer I had started building a world. Of course I had done that before, ripping from Tolkein and the rest of the greats for a DnD campaign or the like, but this world was different. It was to be my magnum opus, the perfect backdrop to the best fantasy novel since The Way of Kings. As time went on I crafted a broken world, desperately in need of saving, a place where villains thrived and only the brave stood against them. Serial killers stalked the streets and slums of great cities, wizards cast spells on the poor, turning them into monsters and demons raided farm villages. It was a pretty messed up place.

Before I knew it, it was the end of July, and the time had come to populate my novel with characters.

I began by writing my villain, because everyone knows that every story is only as good as it's villain. He would be dastardly and oh so very narcissistic, with deep seething hatred for the hero. It would be his life's work to be the direct opposition to all that was good.

Then came the heroes, the characters that would carry not only the narrative, but the very hearts of the readers in their capable hands. I sat there at my desk, the blue light from my laptop reflecting off of my glasses as I began to build the perfect version of myself. Strong, bold, charismatic, extremely smart and good looking. He had my hair and eye color but he was a perfect paragon, undoubtedly nothing like me. Wielding the Hero Blade, a greatsword of legendary power, his justice would be swift and inescapable. His placeholder name was Arthur, and he was the protagonist I so desperately wanted to see in myself. Next was the heroine. Strong, independent, driven, interesting, smart, loyal, caring...stunningly gorgeous. She would wear plate armor of white shining steel, with a shield to defend the weak and the Everlight sword of power to strike down evil. She was the perfect companion, the partner that I wished for upon every shooting star. Her name was Rose, and little did the protagonist know, over the course of the story she would fall desperately in love with -...

The doorbell rang.

I wretched my dry eyes away from the monitor, letting them fall down to my phone.

It was 1AM. What the hell would anyone want with me at 1 in the morning? I slowly stood from my seat, nearly falling over in the process. This was no doubt due to the ridiculous amount of time that had been sitting, but as I caught myself on the chair a thought occurred to me.

What if I just didn't answer the door? It never crossed my mind that someone might need help. All I kept thinking was that I hadn't ordered any food.

Then the deeper manipulative rationale began. What if it was a serial killer? A knife brandishing, sick, weirdo that wants to wear my guts? You can never be too careful these days…

The doorbell rang again.

Now I was just pissed. What kind of asshole just stands around ringing a random apartment doorbell in the middle of the night? What a dickhead. I wasn't gonna answer purely out of spite at this point-...

The doorbell rang again.

"You're shitting me," I said out loud. Not too loud of course, I couldn't have my pest of an unwanted visitor thinking I was rude. Whatever sense that made.

I shot upright, quickly throwing on a shirt to pair with my stained sweatpants. I stormed to the door in a blur of unfiltered rage. It was time to tell whoever this was to go the hell away.

"Hello."

It was a sweet old man. Immediately I felt the guilt begin to simmer, but who would've thought? He wore a kind smile and eyes that harbored an endless wisdom. His large, bushy beard was a snow white that matched the tufts of hair that stuck out from under his nightcap. He wore a silky robe of regal purple that I surmised to be fairly expensive. Much more so than my grey sweatpants at the very least.

"Can I help you?" I asked, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

"Yes I'm hoping so," he replied with a chuckle. "You see, I'm a neighbor from a few doors down and I've caught wind that you're a writer."

I was pleasantly shocked. He had heard of my work! That's incredible! No nevermind that I had never published anything, making this near impossible! Instantly my demeanor shifted as a large smile spread across my face.

"Yes sir, that's right," I replied hurriedly. "You've heard of my work?"

He quickly matched my smile with an infectious one of his own.

"That's wonderful!" he exclaimed, clasping his hands together. "You see, I'm a bit of a storyteller myself and I've been extremely restless as of late, as I'm sure is apparent."

"Oh that's awesome," I replied. "Not the restlessness of course, but, you know."

"Yes, of course," he said with another chuckle.

He hesitated only slightly before continuing.

"I hate to be a bother," he began. "Would it be too much trouble for me to, perhaps, read some of your work?"

I was absolutely delighted. Nevermind the fact that I had never met this man before in my life and that he knew things that in hindsight he definitely couldn't have known. This old man was actually interested in my material. I'd have let him read it even if he said he'd kill me afterwards.

"Really?" I said perked up and now fully awake. "I'd love to show you my work!"

I cheuffeured him through the door, realizing all too late that my apartment was a complete mess.

"Ah- sorry," I said, kicking cans and fast food wrappers from the path to my laptop.

"Not to worry, my boy," he replied with a smile as he stepped over a half eaten sandwich.

I gestured for him to sit down as I pulled back my chair for him.

"Thank you," he said, taking the seat.

"Well this is it," I started, gesturing to the laptop. "I was actually working on some character profiles when you rang."

"I see," he said quietly, as he began scrolling at what seemed like light speed. His eyes were glued to the screen, so he must've been the fastest speed reader I'd ever met.

"I quite enjoy the Death Walkers as a concept," he continued. "Not entirely original, as I'm sure you know, but the spin keeps it on its toes."

"It isn't that obvious, is it?"

"Oh it definitely is, but there's something to be said about wearing your influence on your sleeve."

Somehow, he had scrolled all the way to the end of my 30 some page document in a matter of seconds. I was sure he would scroll back up, stopping for at least a moment to digest a concept before continuing. But he didn't, he just spun around towards me in the swivel chair.

"Any comments or critiques are more than welcome," I said after a moment.

He looked around my mess of a room, taking it all in as one would a beautiful scenery.

"Are you sure?" he asked, resting his eyes back on me.

"By all means," I replied, in no way knowing what I had just gotten myself into.

"All right," he said with a heavy sigh as he sat back in the chair. "Forgive me for prying, but I get the sense that this is all just a projection."

I didn't quite know how to reply to that.

"Oh, well-," I stammered before I was wistfully interrupted.

"Just as I thought," he continued. "The Hero is literally you, but a you that's actually grown a pair and stopped being a filthy degenerate."

My mouth was wide open as I stood there in disbelief. Could this be a dream? Had I fallen asleep at the desk? Maybe this was just a joke. A cruel and surprisingly accurate one, but a joke nonetheless. Unfortunately for me, the old man never broke his gaze, never cracked a smile.

"I mean look at this!" he said, his tone shifting only slightly. "A broken world that only you can fix, an armored girlfriend that's actually willing to be there and commit to you unlike that last girl you were talking to, even the Lancer is just a jaded version of your friends that don't have their own problems for you to deal with."

How the hell did he know this? Was I being pranked? Had my friends set this up? How did he know these things about my life?

"Do I know you?" I asked, unsure of what else to say.

"I mean even this villain is just meaningless arbitrary evil," he said, blistering on. "I can't even find the beginnings of a salvageable plot here, let alone thematic resonance. You might as well turn this into a harem anime!"

"Wait I-," I managed to get out before I was interrupted again.

"Oh that's right," he said, turning back to me with that same expression. "Somehow you still believe in true love, despite how many times it shoots you in the foot. So a self respecting man like you wouldn't want a harem, my mistake."

This couldn't be real. There was no way this was actually happening.

"Tell me," he said leaning in towards me. "They'll fight a demon and save a city and then she'll fall In love with him won't she? Your perfect companion?"

I was almost in tears.

"But that was only the first chapter I-..."

"Pathetic," he said, throwing his head into his hand.

He had finally stopped. It took another minute before I was able to gather my words and thoughts.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," I said holding back tears.

"Yes," he said, standing up from my chair. " I was afraid you would."

As he walked out my front door he turned back to face me, giving me a half smile as he noticed a tear run down my cheek.

"Why don't you go out and make that life for yourself? You want it so badly, go and claim it!" he said in an excited whisper.

"This isn't a fantasy world, old man," I said with a bite, as the anger finally made its presence known.

I slammed the door in his face and locked it behind me. The waterworks came as I sat down on the cold tile in front of the door.

"It was only the first draft, damn it," I said out loud through a sob.

Eventually I collected myself. Or collected myself the best I could at least. Slowly I stood up and sulked my way into the kitchen, the clock on the microwave reading 3:04.

He had been here for two hours? I figured that my lack of sleep was getting to me as I pulled a soda from the fridge. I cracked it open and took a sip as I sauntered back to my room where I would delete my documents, turn off my laptop and finally go to sleep.

I didn't make it past the doorway.

As I froze In my tracks there at the entrance, I saw what my brain couldn't quite comprehend.

There standing in my room was a girl, a short, beautiful girl with blue eyes and red hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore a plate armor of white shining steel and there lay a sword and shield neatly across my bed. It was the Everlight, the unmistakable sword of justice.

"R-Rose?" I stammered.

She looked over to me.

"That's me," she said with a smile. "Um, could you tell me where I am?"

My soda hit the ground before I did, but as the blood rushed from my head, I quickly followed.

A pretty good meet-cute, huh?