Jake had had a full day already, but it wasn't over yet. Now he saw his Creator call him completely over the telephone.
Jake was cantering when he picked up the phone. I called him at eleven miles an hour, which was excellent for a cell phone company of that age. "Woah! Woah! Jake! Woah! Jake!"
It slowed him down to be called by name.
"Woah! I'm a friend!" I said. He shuffled to a stop.
"Jake," I said from the unlighted interior of his phone, "you have nothing to fear. I bring you tidings of great joy."
He was slow to get his breath back, so he wasn't much of a conversationalist at first. "Are-are you-from the-the writing.com site?" he said. His eyes rolled and rolled.
"I am from the everything.com," I replied.
"The what?" he said.
"Jake," I said, "I am a writer, and I created you for use in my books."
"Pardon me?" he said.
"I'm your creator," I said. "You're in the middle of a story right now - close to the end of it, actually."
"Um," he said.
"Are there any questions you'd like to ask?"
"Pardon me?" he said.
"Feel free to ask anything you want - about the past, about the future," I said. "There's a whole bunch of quasi-sexy stuff in your future."
"What?" he said.
"Erotic material for the story."
"Huh," he said. It was a noncommital sound.
"I've also arranged for you to have a reputable babysitter from now own. No more beavers for you."
"Um," he said.
"If I were in your spot, I would certainly have lots of questions," I said.
"Do you have a gun?" he said.
I laughed there on his phone. "I don't need a gun to control you, Jake. All I have to do is write down something about you, and that's it."
. . .
Jake was cantering when he picked up the phone. I called him at eleven miles an hour, which was excellent for a cell phone company of that age. "Woah! Woah! Jake! Woah! Jake!"
It slowed him down to be called by name.
"Woah! I'm a friend!" I said. He shuffled to a stop.
"Jake," I said from the unlighted interior of his phone, "you have nothing to fear. I bring you tidings of great joy."
He was slow to get his breath back, so he wasn't much of a conversationalist at first. "Are-are you-from the-the writing.com site?" he said. His eyes rolled and rolled.
"I am from the everything.com," I replied.
"The what?" he said.
"Jake," I said, "I am a writer, and I created you for use in my books."
"Pardon me?" he said.
"I'm your creator," I said. "You're in the middle of a story right now - close to the end of it, actually."
"Um," he said.
"Are there any questions you'd like to ask?"
"Pardon me?" he said.
"Feel free to ask anything you want - about the past, about the future," I said. "There's a whole bunch of quasi-sexy stuff in your future."
"What?" he said.
"Erotic material for the story."
"Huh," he said. It was a noncommital sound.
"I've also arranged for you to have a reputable babysitter from now own. No more beavers for you."
"Um," he said.
"If I were in your spot, I would certainly have lots of questions," I said.
"Do you have a gun?" he said.
I laughed there on his phone. "I don't need a gun to control you, Jake. All I have to do is write down something about you, and that's it."
. . .
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May 12, 2023
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